


The Love of My Life

by Jollytr



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Richard Armitage - Fandom
Genre: Broken Bones, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Richard Armitage Fan Fiction, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Train Stations, humour (hopefully)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 58,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jollytr/pseuds/Jollytr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg (OFC) was walking quickly and looking at her watch when she collided with a post .... which wasn't a post at all.   It was a tall, dark, handsome stranger with a voice like melted chocolate and eyes that made hearts go 'thud'.   Follow the adventures of Richard and Meg as they get to know each other, fall in and out of love,  experience trauma, and find their happily ever after.</p><p>This is a fluffy Richard Armitage fan fiction romance about two imaginary characters .... one just looks and sounds like a certain fabulous Englishman who, coincidentally, also makes hearts go thud.  Richard Armitage fans will spot many of his quotes and references to his work, hopefully getting a giggle out of them.  With luck, the story is also fun for those who don't know Richard Armitage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Assault with a Deadly Beverage

**Author's Note:**

> I intend no insult or harm to any real people who may share the names of the characters in this story. I do not own any of the characters (other than the OFC), songs, poetry, books, movies, interviews, articles or tv shows which appear here. I respect the many artists whose work is referenced and do not/will not receive compensation from any source because of this story.
> 
> This is the first story I've written in more years than I can count. It's a bit nerdy but it's been fun to do (except for Chapter 30 - that one was painful). I would love to receive comments and/or criticism on any aspect. Thank you for considering this Richard Armitage fan fiction :-)

She could barely see her watch through the tears stinging her eyes. He had been so young – so full of love and hope. He had been an inspiration. _Damn it all anyway. It was never the arses_ …

She wondered, with increasing frequency, if she would ever conquer this persistent tardiness. Being chronically late was a bad habit she just couldn’t break. Was there a program for that? Probably not – normal people would simply prioritize and get going with time to spare. No matter how hard Meg tried, she could never quite arrive on schedule.

And now, crying _and_ rushing at the same time. Shit. Not an auspicious start to a solemn day.

Emerging from the Tube station she was whisked along by the momentum of the travelling masses. For just a second, she grimly wished that the throng of commuters would take her anywhere but where she was already supposed to be. _No! That would never do._ She didn’t want to be anywhere but in that church on that very morning. It was the least she could do.

While trying to check her watch for the millionth time, she walked straight into a post. The post grunted. Ugh – it was human – a surprised and unhappy human. _Great, just what I need_.

“Fuck”, she shouted, jumping back from a man holding a suddenly empty cup of one of those fancy, schmancy designer coffees she so detested.

Realizing her expletive wasn’t of the silent variety, she gasped “Shit, shit, double shit, I said that out loud didn’t I?”

All she could see was a creamy beverage smear dripping down a purple shirt and all over the front of what looked like an expensive cashmere coat. Her victim was quite tall – well, to be honest everyone was tall compared to her 5’1” – and he was wearing those annoying mirrored sunglasses. When she looked up all she could see was a very grim mouth, and her look of panic reflected in his glasses.

“I am not a bad person. And I rarely swear in front of strangers. I have probably ruined your poor shirt and coat. I’ll give you my business card so you can send me all the bills. I don’t usually ‘hit and run’ but I am late for a very important date,” She babbled, rummaging through her purse.

While pulling bits and bobs out of her purse in search of the elusive business card, her mobile phone erupted with Gotye’s "Somebody That I Used to Know'.

“Damn it all to shit,” she muttered, snapping up the phone.

“Fanny you have to stall. I’m only a few minutes away but I’ve just scalded some poor bastard."  She paused, "I don’t know, get the kids to sing 'Tears in Heaven', 'Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door' or some damn thing. You CANNOT let the service start without me. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

Mumbling a string of curses that would make a drunken sailor blush, Meg thrust the annoying phone into her victim’s hands, ordering him to,  “Hold this a minute.”

She noticed his mouth hanging open and he seemed to be moving his lips but either she couldn’t hear him or he was doing an impression of a fish out of water. _Whatever! I don't have time for his drama._

Resuming her search for the missing card, she emerged from the depths of her purse victorious. “AHA, I knew you were in there you little prick”.

She tucked the card into the front breast pocket of his unfortunate coat. Taking off without looking back, she shouted to him, “I really am sorry – I will pay for everything”.

~^~

The service was lovely, as she knew it would be. Matthew Lennox was one of her first clients when she moved to London a year and a half before, and she simply adored him. A nine year old boy stricken with Cystic Fibrosis, he was depressed and withdrawn when his parents brought him to her. Working with him as his Recreation Therapist, he showed promise right from the start. Very quickly he opened up, he trusted, he was brave, he was funny, he was wonderful. Matthew was a dream client. _Damn CF. It was never the arses …_

Matt’s parents asked Meg to speak during the service and to be a pall bearer. She was deeply moved to be able to do these small things for the sweet boy and his family. She read from his favourite book, “The Hobbit”, and admonished the mourners to not overlook the little guy, reminding them that a small person can have a great influence if they have enough courage. Matt certainly had more than enough courage to spare. She borrowed a lot of it from him in the last few weeks as his body began the agonizing process of shutting down for good.

After the internment and reception Meg made her way back to her office. She loved the old renovated warehouse in South East London. She never failed to giggle proudly when she saw “Dr. M. J. Porter, Recreation Therapist” on the brass plate beside the bright red door. The neighbourhood was delightful and the building exceeded her dreams, with enough room for her large work space on the main floor and a roomy flat directly above. One of her favourite features was the massive floor to ceiling windows which showered her and her clients with warm, natural light every day. It was a bonus that it wasn’t too, too far from London Southbank University where she was a visiting part time Professor of Rec Therapy.

As she passed through the foyer and punched in the code to unlock the office door she was struck by the emptiness of the place. Matt wouldn’t be back to play snooker, bake, watch movies, read, do skits, torture the piano, make Lego creations … but maybe if she listened hard enough she would still hear his laughter echo.

She moved to her desk and sitting down, put her head in her hands, weeping, smiling, sniffling, chuckling, as memories and grief took turns with her heart. Lost in a bittersweet haze, she drifted off to sleep with her head resting on her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Fanny and lots of chocolate ice cream


	2. Fanny, Meg and a Gallon of Chocolate Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Meg's best friend Fanny, eat chocolate ice cream, reminisce about Meg's first love, Dr. Alec Trak, visit Meg's office and try to find Meg's lost phone.

The phone’s blaring ring shattered the silence and woke her with a start. It was Fanny. Sweet Fanny Thornton, her only close friend in London. Her family back in Canada loved Fanny. Intelligence, humour, mischievousness and real affection for Meg earned her the distinction of “honourary Porter”.

“Where’s your feckin’ phone? I’ve been calling you for over an hour! I’m coming over and bringing ice cream. Stay put!” Fanny demanded and abruptly hung up.

Hmmmm. Good question. Where was the infernal mobile? She searched through her purse and couldn’t find it. It was not in her coat either. “Bloody Buggers!!!” she shouted, remembering that she foisted it onto the Purple Shirt/Cashmere Coat Coffee Spill Victim. She tried calling the phone but it went directly to voicemail. Of course it did because the damn thing knew exactly when to run out of juice. She was forever grateful to George Carlin for the _Seven Words You Can't Say on Radio or Television_. She repeated them several times, with vigour.

Meg locked the office and went upstairs to change clothes. No one could ever accuse her of being fashionable at the best of times but when she needed to get comfy – well she looked like an Olympic class dumpster diver. Incapable of eating a meal without spilling on herself ensured that most of her clothes were stained in at least one place. She seriously needed a full body bib. She absent-mindedly wondered if, since she had perfected the art of spilling things on herself, maybe she should branch out and spill food on other people. That being the case, she was off to a good start that day. Food for thought. She’d run it by Fanny who was due to arrive soon.

While mulling over the implications of being a Designated Spiller, Meg heard the downstairs foyer door slam shut and heavy stomping up the steps. She yanked open her flat door just as Fanny approached it.

“Pinot Noir – check. Chocolate ice cream – check. It won’t be as good as that crack – I mean ice cream - which you make, but it will just have to do for today.” Fanny hugged her, the bags smooshed between them in the embrace.

“You skank! How am I going to lose this damnable stone if you keep stuffing me with all my favourite fatty-patty foods????” Meg said in a wounded, drama queen voice as she went to get glasses and spoons.

“Awww but you’re a fabulous Reubenesque creature Meg. You don’t need to lose no stinking weight.” Fanny drawled in a pathetic effort to mimic Moroney from Johnny Dangerously.

The two women talked, cried, ate, drank and laughed together. Fanny and Meg openly and easily shared their grief over the loss of Matthew. Fanny was occassionally roped into helping Meg with her clients’ adventures so she knew and adored Matthew too – often ganging up with him to play some kind of joke on Meg. Meg didn’t know what she ever did to deserve a friend like Fanny but she was certainly grateful.

“Well, Love, I have to get home and feed my ravenous husband. He absolutely insists on eating every single night. What’s up with that? But I guess it’s a small price to pay for having the best lover in the world at my beck and call. What a woman has to do for some quality nookie!”she winked, laughed and gathered up her things.

As Meg saw her friend off, she couldn’t help but smile when she thought of Fanny and Wilson. They had the love - Twu Wuv - that dreams, songs and movies were made of. Meg wondered when, and not for the first time, she would find her Twu Wuv # Two. At 44 years old she was trying not to be impatient but she was thinking He was taking his jolly sweet time finding her – and heavens knew they both shouldn’t have rampant tardiness issues.

Grandpa found Maria Hale when he was 73 years old – almost 10 years after Gramma died. Sometimes Twu Wuv took a while. Meg lost her wonderful Alec four years ago. He had only three years left in the Royal Canadian Army Medical Corp when he was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. Colonel Dr. Alec Track, her sweet love, dead at age 44. He should be 48 this year. _It’s never the arses._

Dr. Margaret Joan Porter, alone at age 40. If truth be told, she’d spent most of their relationship alone as Alec was usually off saving lives in the most troubled spots of the world – Bosnia, Congo, Rwanda, Darfur, Afghanistan. If there was a UN Peacekeeping mission in the last 20+ years, he was there. While he was away, Meg poured herself into her education and family. She received her Ph.D. in Recreation Therapy and M.A. in Psychology. She planned to finish her Psych doctorate before Alec retired and they had often laughed about being Dr. & Dr. Dr. Track. She treasured those happy memories of Alec on leave. She was wistful thinking of how they had always meant to have a wedding. It seemed like such an inconsequential formality because in their hearts they were already married. _So much for plans of mice and men_. She may be well on her way to completing her second doctorate, but she’d never be Dr. Dr. Track. Grief threatened to overwhelm her yet again – grief for Alec and for Matthew.

Trying to distract herself, she decided to go back down to the office in order to prepare for next week’s clients. She didn't have many of them, didn't have the time, but those she did have meant the world to her. Thinking of her clients always cheered her up. Whether it was a challenging case, a new breakthrough, unexplained regression or graduation from therapy, there was always something to get her mind working at full tilt.

She did a quick visual inventory of the ‘stations’ in her open plan professional space. Physio & Occupational therapy tools, Ping Pong, Snooker, Foosball, TV, Video Games, Books, Board Games, Crafts, Cooking, Music, Dancing, Piano, A Mini Stage, her beloved Tickle Trunk and Art Materials. She was overjoyed to be able to accommodate so many activities on site. She was grateful for her many community partners who were willing to accept her clients as interns in environments which enriched their lives. The Royal Shakespeare Company was particularly generous in finding volunteer spots for clients who expressed an interest or aptitude for the theatre.   _So many good people willing to help.  What would we do without them?_

Sighing heavily both at her good fortune and because of her grief, she wandered over to her personal workspace. On the wall behind the desk was her elegantly written motto: Gnothi Seauton – Know Thyself. It was appropriate for her profession and for her as a woman. She felt she was making excellent progress in knowing herself and enjoyed professional fulfilment when she helped her clients do the same.

Sitting on the couch near her desk, she looked over her bookshelves. They were peppered with little trinkets and photos from her clients. She smiled at the memories each one stirred. When she glanced upon Matthew’s photo, she moaned. He had made the wooden picture frame himself and engraved “Dum Spiro Spero” into the wood. Indeed, “while I breathe, I hope”. Matt’s breath and hope were gone.   _It was never the arses ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time there will be fan-girl warning sirens going off as Richard tries to return Meg's phone


	3. Another Shirt Ruined?  Check.

Meg was crying so hard she didn’t hear the door open. She didn’t hear when the visitor walked up to her. But she did hear when he quietly said “Shhhhh, it’s allright. It’s going to be ok”. She was so overwrought that when he sat down beside her on the couch and attempted to pat her shoulder, she leaned into him and sobbed uncontrollably. He continued to murmur soothing words, his voice a gentle susurration, encouraging her to calm.

He wondered how in the world this insane woman managed to make it through the day. This morning she dumped scalding coffee all over him, swore at him, threw her belongings at him, and ran away shouting at him. This afternoon, she fairly well tackled him by launching herself into his arms and wept without restraint.

Since she showed no signs of stopping anytime soon, he began to survey his surroundings. Her office was bright, clean and held such an eclectic collection of items he wondered if it was really an office. It seemed to reflect her energy and spirit – well, what he'd been exposed to so far. He smiled when he noticed the wall writing behind her desk. Gnothi Seauton? His smile fell.  A chill ran down his spine when he spied the photo with the Dum Spiro Spero engraving. Did he just step into the Twilight Zone? Then he groaned – she must be a member of The Army. His blue eyes clouded to grey.

He was tired and wanted to go home but he was trapped with a fan. Normally he appreciated meeting his fans, but this one appeared to be something of a lunatic. He sighed and dug down deep to find the strength to be gracious. “Do unto others … do unto others … do unto others”, he chanted to himself under his breath. Hopefully she wouldn’t swear at him again.

Eventually the sobbing abated, somewhat. It was replaced by wracking sobs and hiccups. She pulled back a little and looked up at him. She was trying to say something but the hiccups and sniffles were making speech well nigh impossible.

“Would you like a glass of water?” he gently asked.

She nodded, hiccupped and pointed to the kitchen, awkwardly moving away from him. He found glasses, filled one with water and brought it to her along with a box of tissues from the counter.

She took small sips of the water and used several tissues to wipe her eyes & blow her nose. He’d never seen such a train wreck. Her face was swollen, her eyes puffy & bloodshot, her nose would rival Rudolph’s, her hair looked like a family of raccoons had taken up residence, and what in the world was she wearing? Sure, he needed help picking out clothes but he’d never go out in public wearing something like that. A baggy long sleeved t shirt with more holes, tears and stains than he could count and a pair of pajama bottoms which had obviously been hacked (rather unevenly) by some nasty shears. Oh brother!

And then she smiled. It wasn’t a big joyful smile, it was one of genuine gratitude. He looked into her face and saw guileless, sincere appreciation. Maybe she was a nice, not scary-extreme, fan after all.

“Thank you for being so kind. It’s been a horrible day and you have officially earned the Knight in Shining Armour Hero Cookie Award.”

She said such silly words but it was easy to see that they were heartfelt and, heaven forbid, appropriate coming from her. However he was still feeling exceptionally uncomfortable and not a little confused.

“I love cookies.” He blurted out. WHAT? I love cookies? Damn. Bloody hell – why was this train wreck making him nervous about anything other than his safety?

She lurched over to the kitchen and loaded a tray with a tin of biscuits and two glasses of milk. While carrying the tray to the couch she almost tripped over the edge of the rug but regained her footing just in time. Crisis averted.

“These were made last night so they aren’t very fresh. Dipping them in milk might salvage them.” She said regretfully. As she passed the cookie jar to him she looked at him and crooked her head. He looked a little familiar but she just couldn’t place it. She shrugged and asked “So, what brings you to my office?”

He was nonplussed. He had been certain she was a rabid fan and he knew the path that these things usually took. However, whether or not she actually knew him was no longer clear. This was not like any fan experience he’d ever had. He frowned, looking into his glass and dipped his cookie into the milk. “I just came to return your phone.”

She was obviously puzzled and he could watch every fleeting thought fly across her face as she processed this information. She was amusingly transparent.

While she was staring at the tear and snot stains on his shirt – flash – the light went on. He was the man in shades with a wardrobe destroyed by hers truly. Meg gasped, “I was so rude to you this morning. I have so many apologies to make I don’t even know where to begin.”

The look of horror on her face would have been comical if she wasn't so earnestly distressed. He couldn’t help but try to reassure her. “Honestly, everything is ok. I know how lost I’d be without my phone and it appeared that today was a tough one for you. I would have brought it earlier but I was bogged down in meetings all afternoon.”

Still staring at his shirt, she said “Oh darn, now I’ve ruined TWO of your shirts”.

He snorted and almost spit milk out of his nose, “Darn? Darn? You can do better than that!”

She attempted to be insulted. Who was she kidding? She certainly could do better than “darn”. She had spent a long time cultivating an extremely colourful vocabulary.  In a supreme effort to feign sophistication and dignity she haughtily replied, “I beg your forgiveness. I should not have used such coarse language this morning. It was _de trop_.”

Weird? Yes. Lunatic? Probably. A decent person? Most likely. Interesting? Definitely. Surprising himself, he said: “Well let’s start over then.” And then with a twinkle in his eye, “But not from the very beginning – I’ve worn enough coffee for one day.”

She cringed and then bit her lip to hide a smile.

“Hi, I’m Richard and I believe I found your mobile phone.” He said with an open grin … and a little chuckle.

“Thank you Richard. I’m Meg and I’m very grateful that you’ve come all this way to return it. You're a generous Good Samaritan!”.

“There now, better?” Richard asked.

“A little better.” She frowned, remembering all that had transpired. “Today has been a very rough day – a child’s funeral, attacked a man in the street, ate far too much ice cream, blubbered all over a handsome stranger … I am embarrassed and stressed beyond belief.

For the first time he didn't wince at a handsome stranger reference. He doubted if she even knew she said it. He didn't like being thought of as some kind of sacrificing superman.  He paused for a moment and then confessed, “It’s only a few minutes to walk from my house so I’m not as much of a hero as you might think”.

Meg continued as if she hadn't heard him, "Cooking always makes me feel much better. I need to cook or bake something. And I have to make dinner anyway so it’s no big deal to make enough for you too. Could you stay for dinner? Oh, man. What is with me and being presumptuous today? I am so sorry … again. May I have another do-over?”

“Certainly.” He chuckled.

“I cordially invite you to dinner this evening Richard.“ She said (very properly).

“I would be delighted.” He answered, once again surprising himself. Was he actually staying for dinner with the oddest, most-likely-to-have-a-psychotic-break fan? Apparently he was. Fortunately, her frenetic instability seemed to be waning.

“Let’s go upstairs. I can cook in this kitchen but I do a better job in my flat.” She said, standing up to leave the office.

Richard was puzzled and then distinctly alarmed. She lived upstairs? Oh dear. He wondered how long it would take for the authorities to find his decomposing body. She was pretty small. He could defend himself against her if he needed to, right? The theme to Psycho played on a loop in his head. He followed anyway, thinking he’d lived a good life. Sure, there was still a lot left to do but, hey, why be greedy? He trudged behind her as if walking into Mordor and wondered ‘where’s Orcrist when you really need it???’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Meg & Richard have dinner


	4. Dinner Anyone?

Meg opened the door to her flat and welcomed him in. He was ... and wasn’t ... surprised. The flat was homey and a little offbeat. She had an odd style – which only made sense considering she was the most eccentric person he’d ever met. The flat reflected her perfectly. It was not so much decorated as a collection of eclectic stuff. He shouldn't have been surprised to discover that her flat was interesting, peculiar, welcoming and comfortable.

He was almost disappointed to see several framed Monet prints on the wall. He inwardly groaned, fan-girl alert. She saw him looking at the prints and said “Yeh, I know they’re kind of student-apartmentish, but I have loved Monet since grade school. I did my class project on him for three years running. I can’t believe I’ve managed to live in Europe for almost two years and I still haven’t been to Giverney. Pathetic, eh?!

He raised his eyebrows and grinned. Nix the fan-girl alert. Whew.

She wondered why her confession appeared to be such a good thing. Weird. She shook her head. Men!

Each time she looked at him she discovered something new. Hair, forehead crinkles, eyes, lashes, cheeks, nose, lips, chin, ears; the parts were awfully nice on their own. But all together - ay carumba!!! And that voice. Seriously??? Are real live human beings allowed to speak like that???? His voice was richer and smoother than the finest chocolate she’d ever sampled. It dawned on her that her early description of ‘handsome stranger’ was far, far more accurate than she realized at the time. The colour of his eyes changed with his feelings and she was certain they were the key to seeing into his soul. He had an incredible face - it could be exceptionally expressive and it could be a blank mask, revealing nothing. His nose was aristocratic and sophisticated, it might have overwhelmed a smaller, weaker man but on him, it added to the strength and character of his face. His lips were even more expressive than his eyes it that was possible. He must have had 100 different smiles, all of which suited him perfectly. His hair - wow - thick, a hint of curls and a rich chocolate brown which made her think of his voice all over again. He had a strength and presence that commanded attention.

“I am just going to go slip into something much less comfortable. Even though you can't unsee these horrible clothes I should make a passing attempt at dignity – no matter how futile.” She laughed. “There is wine in the cupboard opposite the fridge and glasses above it, if you’re so inclined. And feel free to mess around with the iPod if you’d like some music.”

When she closed the bedroom door behind the doors she smacked herself in the head . “Inviting a strange man into your flat, asking him to stay for dinner, plying him with wine & music? Meg, you are either an idiot or a ho!!”

She quickly washed her face, brushed her long brown hair back into a tidy ponytail and put on one of her few unstained shirts (unstained for the time being, she amended) and a pair of black jeans. Flip flops completed her ‘high fashion statement’. Ha! Fashion? As if.  At least she was presentable.

Richard looked up as she came back into the living room and was unable to contain a look of surprise. When she didn’t have tears, snot or mascara all over her face, she didn’t look nearly so dangerous. In fact, she looked downright normal. What was he so afraid of? She couldn’t hurt a fly. He chuckled when he saw the flip flops. He could relate, standard gear around his house too.

“How do you feel about salmon, couscous, tomatoes, and salad?” She called out from inside the fridge.

“Sounds good to me, I love salmon.” He nodded as he pressed play on the iPod docking station and The Black Eyed Peas informed everyone that they were having the time of their lives. “What can I do to help?”

“Salad? If you can thinly slice an apple and a pear and then tear up the lettuce, I would be forever grateful … haha, even more grateful than I am already.” She seasoned the salmon & wrapped it in parchment. He was impressed with how quickly she prepared the tomatoes halves with a simple parmesan/panako topping. She pulled fresh herbs from the fridge for the couscous. Everything was going smoothly and she hadn’t spilled anything yet. A feeling of foreboding came over her and she grabbed an apron - no sense tempting fate.

Richard handed her a glass of wine and began carefully slicing the apple & pear. He noticed that her previous clumsiness, both verbal and physical, was non-existent in the kitchen. She was graceful, efficient, confident and relaxed. Who was this Meg????  “How long have you lived in London?” he asked. 

Thus began an easy conversation about living in South East London, the neighbourhood and where they were from. He was from Leicester but his roots were further north in Cumbria. She was from just outside Toronto but her roots were on the north shore of Nova Scotia, Canada. A passionate conversation about being an ‘ex pat’ in your own country ensued. Leicester was no Cumbria. Toronto was no Tatamagouche.

He was happily of a mind that Meg was not a fan-girl at all. No matter how much he appreciated his Army, he was more than a little disconcerted at the thought of a relationship with someone who probably had preconceived ideas about who he was based on roles and a few interviews. He was always certain that his fans were attracted to his characters, not to him and that he would sorely disillusion them if/when they discovered the difference. He decided that Meg was either a better actor than he was, or she had no idea that he was Richard ‘Freaking’ Armitage. He was pretty sure it was the latter because she was far too transparent to carry off the former.

She added the apples, pears, grapes, blue cheese and toasted walnuts to the lettuce and set it aside to toss later with a light dressing of seasoned rice wine vinegar and grapeseed oil. The salmon was ready for a spritz of fresh lime. The tomatoes were baked just the way she liked them, not too mushy with a golden crunchy topping. She added fresh lemon thyme and lavender to the couscous and fluffed it well.

“I could either do things properly and put all of this on serving platters for the table … or we could just serve ourselves from the pots. Somehow I don’t think it will affect your opinion of my decorum in the least.” She grinned as she tossed the salad.

He chuckled. Not highly likely at this point. “Pots it is”.

“Excellent! You didn’t need extra dishes to wash later anyway.” She giggled.  Her Mom might not have thought it proper for a guest to do dishes, but Meg sure did.  

Usually he was a bit absent minded about food. He was normally one of those people who, unless you shoved a sandwich in his hand, would forget to eat. The way his stomach was growling he doubted he had eaten lunch. He preferred clean, unfussy food which was exactly what Meg prepared. It looked and smelled delicious. He was looking forward to tucking in!

They took their plates to the dining table, along with a bottle of Domaines Schlumberger crisp Alsatian wine. They continued chatting about favourite aspects of London and ate with gusto. “Oh don’t you just love it after a meal when you feel fat and happy? Good food and good company are The Best.” Meg purred. He concurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Richard does the dishes. Lots of chocolate ice cream.


	5. Movie, Anyone?

As dinner finished, Richard was abruptly sentenced to dish duty while Meg prepared dessert. She hummed, extremely off key, to herself as she brought ingredients out of the fridge.

“How brave do you feel?” she asked him.

“Why?” he asked warily. He was confident his life was in no longer in danger, but he wasn’t entirely sure what might set off a new outburst.

“I had been working on a new ice cream which uses Pinot Noir but it just wasn’t coming together the way I wanted it to. My friend Fanny gave me inspiration this afternoon and we might have a winner if we do this right. Are you willing to take a leap of faith, foolishness and bravery to find out?” Meg asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“I will if you will.” He challenged cheekily.

“Aren’t you even going to ask what it is?” She jokingly admonished.

Richard shrugged and said “if dinner is anything to go by, I’m sure it will be delicious. But I’ll humour you and ask: what kind of ice cream are you making for us?”

“Ha. For me to know and you to find out.” She snort-laughed at her own childishness. “Well, now that wasn’t very polite. Put another apology on my tab”

“Not that polite has ever ruled your tongue before!” He teased.

The banter continued until he paused, slightly bewildered. Normally he was quite shy around new people. But they’d spent over two hours just chatting away like old friends with nary an awkward lull in sight. Their affable conversation was easy and fresh. Hmmm. That was unusual, and quite nice for a change.

She noticed the pause and gave him a concerned, questioning look.

“Normally I’m quite shy and it’s bloody annoying; I’ll spend a whole evening at a party asking everyone about themselves. I’m not being self-deprecating; it’s because I’m too shy to talk about myself. So people come away from the evening actually having learnt nothing about me. Which begs the question, what did you put in the couscous because you’re as easy to talk to as an old chum?” He grinned, almost but not quite shyly, from beneath his luxurious lashes.

She belly laughed and replied, “Well if anyone could find a reason to be shy with me then they are pathologically shy and require intensive therapy to achieve minimal life coping skills. After all, no matter what anyone else might do, it could never match the inappropriateness, awkwardness and embarrassment of pretty much everything I do. I AM the cautionary tale of the importance of social skills.” She said with a resigned smile.

As she pulled the rest of the ingredients from the fridge, she looked just a little bit sad. She’d never admit it but she wished she would always behave with the dignity and grace she was renowned for in her work. Being outrageous kept the undesirables away, but it also kept nice people away too. That which started out as a coping mechanism had become an ingrained habit. She had been throwing the baby out with the bath water for a very long time. She was so lost in her own musings she didn’t notice him staring at her while he attempted to process all of inconsistencies he witnessed that day.

Pushing all dreary thoughts away, she made a great flourish of presenting the ingredients and equipment. “Tonight we will attempt a creation heretofore unimagined. We offer you … dun dun dun … Belgian chocolate ice cream with two ribbons of tantalising ganache: one dark chocolate and the other a provocative confection made from a reduction of pinot noir lovingly combined with a delicate white chocolate ganache.” she said as she took a bow.

He was gob smacked. Pinot noir AND chocolate ice cream? He started salivating and wondered if he should be looking for the electrodes which must surely have sucked food fantasies out of his head. “Please!!!” he moaned.

That moan went straight to her … heart? Head? She wasn’t sure where it went but at that moment she didn’t believe there was anything sexier than a man offering adoration for her food. This guy! She was never so thankful for being a clutz in all of her life as it resulted in meeting him.

As she poured the first container of chocolate custard base into the ice cream machine, she realized she hadn’t felt so happy in years. And then she spilled most of the second container all over herself. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“Another one bites the dust. And another one’s gone, and another one’s gone. Another one bites the dust.” She sang.  “Another clean shirt” she smirked when she saw his confused expression.

“Let me get this straight. You swear like a trucker, you are clumsy to the n-th degree, you cannot be near food without spilling on yourself, you let strangers into your house and cuddle into them, and you blurt out everything that pops into your head. Anything I’ve missed?” He asked with mock seriousness.

“Well, let’s see. Of course there’s more. You forgot that I am so short I need stools and grabbing tools in every room just to reach into to cupboards. I cannot assemble a nice outfit to save my soul. I am late for every personal appointment. Oh, there’s so much more but I just don’t know you well enough to confess ALL of my faults and weaknesses.” She laughed. “Ok, now it’s my turn to do you. You’re kind of shy – sometimes. You don’t scream at idiots who scald you with hot beverages. You return personal property to people who may or may not be escapees from an asylum. You comfort weird, hysterical strangers who launch themselves at you. You wash dishes. You have great taste in food. Hmmm. One could get the impression that there is a terrible inequity here. You are clearly a much nicer person than I am.” She chortled.

They continued to laugh and chat while Meg worked on the ice cream. The chocolate custard base was almost in the soft freeze state and close to being ready to pot. The ganaches were soft enough in their respective piping bags to flow. Various taste tests confirmed that the component parts were ‘acceptable’, if by acceptable they meant 'moan inducing chocolate ecstasy'.

A second bottle of wine and lots of sneak attacks on the ganache later, they were ready to pot the ice cream. Meg smoothed a layer of the lightly frozen chocolate custard into the bottom of a disposable ice cream tub. Meg showed Richard how to piping swirls of the dark chocolate ganache onto the ice cream and then he repeated the action with the pinot noir ganache on his own. Meg added another layer of ice cream, and so on. Six layers complete! All that was left to do was to let it freeze.

“Should be ready by midnight. Would you like to stay or do you have to skedaddle?” Meg asked, hoping he’d chose the former.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... cookies, a movie and a childish race


	6. Time for Dessert

Richard chuckled, “Well tonight’s not a school night so I can stay up late. What do you want to do while we wait?” He immediately flushed bright red because that sounded SO sleazy and sleazy was NOT what he intended. She was definitely not his type – whatever that was. She was far too short, loud, a little frightening, less glamourous than his usual dates and very, very odd. Erg – he gave his head a mental shake.

“We could go for a walk, or watch a movie downstairs, or bake something, or play a board game, or – “

“Where were you the last hundred times I got bored? Are you always full of ideas?” He chuckled. “Do you have a preference?”

“Well, quite honestly I’m a little tapped out and not up for anything that requires a brain or much exertion. I think watching a movie or baking is about all I’m up to. I could probably rally to whoop your ass at Go though.” She challenged.

“ If those cookies you gave me this afternoon are a stale disappointment, I would love to try some that are up to your standards. Could we bake and watch a movie?” He asked, hopefully.

“Cookies and a movie it is! Quadruple chocolate pecan cookies coming up. I’m having a bit of a craving for coconut so how about some macaroons too?”

“Mmmmmmm coconut mmmmmmmm.” Richard said in his very best Homer Simpson (which wasn’t that good at all – he kind of stunk at impressions).

Together they made the two batches of cookies. Once again he marvelled at how effortlessly graceful and confident she was while baking. No wonder she considered it her stress reliever – it had a calming effect on him just watching her.

When the cookies were done, they went downstairs. Meg didn’t have a telly in her flat so used the one in the office when she felt like watching a program or a movie. “Anything special you like to watch?” She asked.

“Anything other than horror.” He said with a grimace.

“Right on my brutha from anutha mutha! I HATE horror movies.” She grinned and grimaced at the same time. “I’m not keen on lots of violence or gratuitous sex but otherwise am easy to please.” She said.

“You do know that lack of gratuitous sex and being easy to please are mutually exclusive don’t you?” He announced before he realized what he was saying and immediately wanted to run for the hills. Had he actually said that out loud? Shit. Was her reckless speech contagious? He turned 50 shades of red. Again.

She punched his arm and laughed. “Ok wise guy – pick a damn show”. Oh crap, was she swearing again? She was trying so hard not to.

He looked through the listings. Nothing jumped out at him and said "watch me, watch me". He was just about to give up when Meg brought out a huge binder and said, “Almost forgot about this. This is a case of some of my favourite movies and tv shows. Maybe you can find something you like in here?”

He looked through her collection with interest. Like her, it was eclectic. She sighed several times as she read specific titles out loud, clearly old favourites. He was more than a little shocked to see North & South and The Hobbit in her collection. Seriously? She’d watched those and gave not even the slightest inclination of recognizing him? Wow. How could someone that bright also be so obtuse? Ok, now that was unfair. Obviously he looked nothing like Thorin and little like John Thornton either. He had always wanted to disappear into his characters like Gary Oldman – so why was he complaining when he managed to do that?

She watched feelings flicker across his face. For a mental health professional who was supposed to be able to discern the significance and meaning of non-verbal communication, she sucked. Yeh, apparently that skill clocked out when she left the office. She couldn’t even guess what he was thinking – but it looked like there was some kind of conflict there. Was picking a movie that stressful or a trigger for something else? What was she missing?

“There’s no law that says we must watch a movie. We don’t have to if you’d prefer not to.” She said softly, hopefully easing whatever it was which was causing him discomfort.

He only partially heard her because his heart began thumping loudly in his ears. There was a whole section of Alfred Hitchcock, Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn movies. He thought he had died and gone to DVD heaven. “No thanks.” He said, obviously distracted. Now all he had to do was to select one from the dozens he wanted to watch. Oh the inhumanity of it all – how could one chose between all of those?!?!?!?

“North by Northwest?” He asked, hopefully.

“YES!!!!!!!!!!!” She shouted gleefully, clapping her hands like a circus seal. She realized how foolish she must have looked and shrugged it off with a typical Meg-is-a-big-goof grin.

They watched the entire movie with such rapt attention that an observer would have thought neither had ever seen it before. They chattered excitedly when the  movie was over, describing their favourite parts and expounding upon the genious of Hitchcock and Cary Grant.

“Ice cream?” He wondered out loud.

“Oh yeh! Race ya!” She shouted back as she had already started to sprint for the door. He grabbed her by the waist and twirled her around behind him so that he could get upstairs first.

She laughed so hard she fell down on the floor in a heap, gasping for air. “Cheater! I’m calling the Brute Squad. Oh, you are the Brute Squad.” She choked out while trying to catch her breath. “Ha! You don’t know the entry code and I’m not telling.”

“Seriously?!?!? How old are you? Four?” He snorted.

She managed to get to her feet and proudly drew herself up to her full height. “I shall have you know I am four and a half. And don’t you forget it!” And then she sped past him to exit the office and climbed the stairs two at a time. “HaHa! beat ya!” She crowed in her best I’m-the-Queen-of-the-castle-and-you’re-the-dirty-rascal voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eating ice cream and lots of friendship fluff


	7. Dessert, Anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your comments, ideas, criticisms and/or requests :-)

They entered the loft still laughing at their own unadulterated silliness. What respectable middle aged person races up the stairs just to claim bragging rights? Certainly no one in his previous acquaintance. But clearly, Meg did and he, once again, wondered if she was contagious. He rather hoped she was, it had been the most unexpected and enjoyable day he’d had in months.

Meg brought out all of the necessary utensils to dish out her truly unique ice cream. They looked at each other in awe and anticipation. Could the reality live up to the expectation? Would it taste like heaven or medical waste? The proof, as they say, was in the pudding. The verdict was unanimous, it tasted like heaven.

“This is my new supreme favourite!” Richard exclaimed. “You are a goddess sent from Ice Cream Nirvana and have blessed me with treats stolen from the gods themselves!” Did he just call her a goddess?? Richard, get a grip of yourself old fella!!!

“Awww shucks. I might blush. But I won’t … because YOU’RE RIGHT – this is AMAZING!” She said, making rather obscene sounds as she alternately savoured, then devoured her dessert.

The two of them sounded like they were making a sound track for a porno movie. When they realized how ridiculous the noises were, they ramped it up even more for effect. Once their bowls were emptied Richard exclaimed, “Damn, I think I need a cigarette after that!”

Meg agreed, “Yeh, we’re THAT good.”

They laughed while cleaning up the dessert dishes and Meg wrapped up the rest of the ice cream for Richard to take home. As she yawned, she thanked him for everything – especially the not having her arrested for assault part, and the returning her phone part, and for the making an otherwise difficult day quite bearable part.

“Miss Meg, for a couple of strangers, we get on astonishingly well. I think we are meant to be friends and … well … I think you’re stuck with me.” He asked for her mobile phone and entered his phone number and email address and then asked her to do the same on his phone.

She laughed and agreed whole heartedly. Maybe this living in England thing wasn’t going to be so lonely after all. This morning she’d only had one good friend. Tonight she was on her way to a second. She truly hoped that Richard and Fanny would hit it off. She giggled as she thought they could have some significantly amusing times together.

Richard smiled and said “See you later alligator.”

To which he received the very mature reply of “See you soon, you big baboon.”

He left with a smile on his face which didn’t fade until he fell asleep, exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... career confusion, more embarrassment


	8. Told You So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your comments, ideas, criticisms and/or requests :-)

A few days later Richard was walking past Meg’s place when he noticed her working at the side of the building.  Good grief – that woman knew no bounds when it came to ugly clothes.   She was digging in a little patch of dirt wearing the most awful 1980’s rejects known to man.    He called out and she waved back, almost throwing a spade at him in her enthusiasm.   After obtaining her promise not to puncture or decapitate him, he gingerly approached her.

“What’s up Chuck?” She asked.

“I’m about to go get my eyes gouged out after seeing those ridiculous clothes you’re sporting.”  He snorted.

“Oh yeh?!  Well … you … Aw hell, I got nuthin’.   You’re right.  This is pretty heinous isn’t it?” She said, quite proud of herself.  “Wanna come in for a cold beverage?”

“I was just on my way to the Café for some lunch.  Want to come too?  However, I reserve the right to veto the clothes you try to leave the house in.”   He muttered the last part, feeling like defeat was certainly his in this arena.

“Well.   Since you asked so nicely, how could I possibly refuse?” She said in the most sickly sweet tones she could muster.

He accompanied her upstairs and waited in the living room while she went to change.   He perused the bookshelves while she chattered away about the benefits of growing your own herbs and small veg.    He should not have been the least surprised to see what her library consisted of.  The titles ranged from complete trash to classic literature.  There seemed to be more 19th century authors than any other group.   Ah, and Georgette Heyer.   Clearly Meg was a fan – there must have been more than a dozen of Ms. Heyer’s works.  He himself was particularly fond of Venetia, Sylvester and A Convenient Marriage.  She had many books by authors he’d never heard of including several by Michael Crummy, Thomas Raddall and Margaret Laurence.  He’d have to ask about them.  He would bet she’d have some interesting suggestions.

He was so absorbed in the books, he didn’t know that she had completed her wardrobe change and was standing behind him, tapping her foot in mock impatience.   She nudged his arm causing him to jump and give out a little shout.

Meg almost fell to the floor laughing.  “You scream like a little girl.”

He puffed out his chest and boomed in his best Russian accent, “I come from the old country where men were men, and women were men.   Now come to lunch woman, or I won’t share vodka.”  He thought to himself, if Guy, Lucas , Portah or Thorin fans heard that scream, they would be SO disillusioned.   Once again, he was completely convinced it was the characters he played that fans were attracted to and the real Richard was a nerd in comparison.  

He looked at Meg and was rather taken aback.   She was wearing a nice (stain free) dress which actually suited her quite well.   Her hair was brushed and smooth (not a pontytail in sight).  She had applied just a titch of makeup which looked natural and lovely.  She was even wearing lipstick.  Who was this woman and what had she done with Meg?   She took another step forward, turning her ankle, tripping, falling into him and almost knocking him over.   Ahhhh, there’s Meg!

“Fucking shoes.   Last time I let Fanny convince me that 5 inch heels are ‘so comfy you won’t believe it.’  Hello – have we met?   I can barely walk in flats – how in hell could I possibly survive 10 steps in these monstrosities?????” She growled.

She raised herself up, still more than a little wobbly.  He stood in front of her and held out his hands to steady her.   Even with 5 inch heels she was simply the shortest woman he’d ever met and that was saying something for a Dwarven King.   She looked up at him and he took an involuntary gasp.  She had the most remarkable eyes he’d ever seen.   A peculiar mixture of blue, grey, green and what was that colour around the edges?  Navy?   He’d never been close enough to be able to see them before.   He began to wonder if he might get lost in them …

“Hello, earth to Richardus Giganticus.  A little help here!   I need to get to a chair so I can remove these beasts from my feet and kill them.”  She said, trying to get his attention.  Shit – she didn’t hurt him when she fell into him did she?   He looked a little ‘off’.

He gave his brain a shake and walked her over to the chair.  He bent down and removed the offending shoes for her.   This time it was her turn to have a little gasp – this very intimate assistance had an unexpected and pleasant effect.   She wondered if this is what Thumper meant by “twitterpated”.    She gave herself a hearty mental shake and told herself to get a grip.  

With a somewhat strangled sounding “Thanks.”  She ran off to her room to fetch her beat up black flats.   There's the real Meg.

They walked to the café in an odd silence which neither of them would have understood even if they had noticed, which they didn't.  They were both in a fog wondering what just happened in the flat a few minutes earlier with regards to shoes, eyes, and … and… what in hell was going on???  

The waiter seated them and informed them of the specials of the day which seemed to snap both Ric'hard and Meg back into focus.   She ordered a salad with grilled chicken and he ordered the chef’s special.  They chatted about the busyness of life and work.  Meg had reopened the office and was quite busy with that and teaching.  Richard had a plethora of meetings and was getting bored out of his mind with them – he wanted to work, not talk about work.   It was with this that Meg realized she had no idea what he did for a living.  

“Richard, what do you do for work?   You’re not a drug dealer or gang member or estate agent or anything nasty like that are you?”  She queried.

With eyebrows shooting nearly off his scalp he replied, “Even worse.  I am an actor.”

“Really?  Are you sure you’re not an accountant or an architect?   You’re so normal and down to earth!” 

Richard had heard that it was possible to drown on less than ¼ cup of liquid but previously thought it an urban legend.   Not anymore.  He was choking so hard he couldn’t catch his breath and if he didn’t get air soon, he was afraid he would pass out.   Meg was preparing to do the Heimlich on him when he managed a gasp.  Relieved she returned to her seat but remained on high alert.

In a few minutes, his breathing returned to normal and other than a sore throat, he was none the worse for wear.   Meg was still looking at him with a weird combination of suspicion and pity.  Pity?  Seriously?   If it wasn’t so bizarre he would have found it insulting.

“Have you been in anything I might recognize?”  She asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“Well, I was in North & South and The Hobbit – both of which I believe you have in your DVD binder.”  He calmly stated.  His ability to keep incredulity out of his voice proved he was a top flight actor!

“Really?   I loved both of those.   What did you play?”  She asked, sceptically

“John Thorton and Thorin Oakenshield.”  He said with authority.  

She clearly wasn’t convinced. He was stricken.

“Prove it!” Her disbelief was growing by the second.  And was that annoyance?  _She_ was annoyed? Un-fucking-believable, he thought to himself.   And he wondered when he started swearing so much.  Maybe she really was contagious. 

Richard pulled brought up his IMDB page on his iPhone.   After ensuring it was properly loaded, he handed the phone to her.

She looked at it with obvious misgivings.   “I don’t know who that extremely handsome guy is in that profile picture but it sure as hell doesn’t look like you!   Now pull yourself together big fella and tell me the truth.   You’re an insurance adjuster, aren’t you?”

His mind raced.  His tendency to change his appearance quite often wasn't an advantage in this situation.  There must be more recent photos of him than that photo-shopped agency picture.   Think, think, think Armitage!   Yes!   The Army!   They’d prove his credentials for certain.   He pulled up the website and showed her the gallery photos.   It was him, damn it!  Some were taken only a month ago.  These DID look like him now.

He watched as she looked through the pictures.  She began with a slightly patronizing smile and slowly it was replaced by a look of horror.  She kept looking at him and looking at the phone – back and forth, back and forth.   Her hand flew to her mouth as nausea plainly engulfed her.   Tears sprung to her eyes.  Why oh why could she not go one day without humiliating herself beyond all possible belief?!?!    

He wondered why those photos and/or his being an actor make her look so ill? Was being an actor so unredeemable she was horrified to associate with him?   Was he so repellent that he made her sick?    What the hell?    He was starting to get a little defensive when she started sobbing out loud.  Oh no – not the crying again.  

He couldn’t be caught in public with a hysterical female.   Fucking paparazzi – no doubt they’d have a field day with this.  He got up and led her to the rest room.   Richard walking into the women’s probably wasn’t the wisest thing in the world but at least it kept them away from prying eyes.  

She was trying so hard to speak but had revisited the land of unintelligible sobs and hiccups.  He sighed wearily.  She wasn’t a mean person and she wouldn’t deliberately try to hurt him (accidentally, definitely but deliberately, no way).  He knew that without a doubt.   He’d just have to wait her out. 

Eventually human speech returned to her.   “I am the single worst person on the planet and don’t deserve a friend who is as forgiving as you are.    If you have a tally of how many apologies I owe you I’ll settle my account now so you can go about your life without the disaster that is Meg Porter just waiting to humiliate herself at your expense.”  She sobbed.

“Self pity doesn’t become you.   Now, look up.  Dry your eyes.  Let me say ‘I told you so’ just once and we’ll call it even.”  He said gently as he pulled her in for a forgiving and forgetting kind of hug.  “And don’t wreck my shirt – I don’t have any clean ones left for my meeting this evening.” He said with a wry grin.

She looked into his eyes and saw that he really did forgive her and might even find it a bit humourous.    Please oh please, let there be just one day that she didn’t attack him and/or disgrace herself in front of him.  Don’t hold your breath Porter, she whinged internally. 

She accidentally caught a look at herself in the mirror and groaned.  Adding insult to injury she was the ugliest crier she’d ever seen.   How do people weep delicately?   Solving that mystery should be placed on the top of her bucket list.  Until then, time to eat crow …

“Richard – please say I told you so. I promise no back talk.”  She groaned.

“I am an actor.  Told you so.”  He looked at her with an expression that, in her feeble state, passed understanding.  If she had been able, she would have seen affection and friendship at their very best.

Trying to be resilient, she said, “I owe ya, Big Guy.  Thanks.”

He winced at the Big Guy appellation but figured she had never seen or heard of Gisborne.  He had an idea, “Hmmm, this may work out well then.   You say you owe me?   Well then, you’re paying for lunch and I need more of that ice cream.”  He smirked.

Their lunch was ready when they returned to their table.  He was diligent in keeping the mood light, telling silly stories about his childhood and LAMDA.   She was a little overwhelmed by how easy he was making this on her.   He was another mystery to be solved.  The damned bucket list was getting longer by the day.  She shook her head to clear out the cobwebs and decided it best to follow his lead.   The first genuine smile in over an hour erupted onto her face – and the rest of the afternoon was a delight of easy camaraderie and (mostly) immature humour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... settling into a new friendship and a glimpse at the thunder in his heart


	9. In Which Routine is Established

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear your thoughts & comments.

Was it really only two weeks ago that he'd been assaulted with a coffee?  Time was doing that weird twisty thing again – it seemed like he’d known her forever and yet it seemed inconceivable that a couple of weeks had gone by already.   It was a good couple of weeks at that.

Without much thought they established their own little comfy routine.  During the day they would text stupid one liners or potty humour to each other.   If they weren’t otherwise busy in the evening they would get together at one or the other’s home and make dinner.  He thoroughly enjoyed watching her and learning about food.   He was already a better cook just by dining with her.

Sometimes when he got home from a particularly long day at work (at that time he was recording a new Georgette Heyer audio book) he`d call her to chat about the day and usually ended up yawning in her ear. 

He chuckled, remembering that one night last week he sounded particularly pitiful when he told her, “I dragged my cello out of the loft a couple of weeks ago and went back to that, but I have to squeeze it into the hour and a half I get in the evening after work.  God, I sound like such a boring workaholic.”

“And WHINGER.”  Meg had grumbled under her breath and rolled her eyes.

“What was that?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing *cough* whinger *cough*. Just thinking out loud again.  What are you up to after we hang up?”

“Before bed, I’ll have a bath, then look at the long, linear pile of books by my bed. It’s exhausting being an actor.  I like to get home, have a glass of wine and pass out.”  He complained.

“Boo hoo for you!  Self pity does not become you!   Your life aint so hard chum!   Your schedule aint so rough either!   With everything on my plate you’re not going to get any sympathy from this corner!!!”  Meg chided with a bit of a chuckle.

“Heartless wench!  G’night”.  He had muttered.

“That’s Heartless _Bitch_ to you, sir.”  She laughed.  “Talk to you tomorrow Sunshine.”

* ^ *

One afternoon he finished work early enabling him to go to Meg’s for dinner and tv.  After a light meal, Meg asked him, “What’s your tv guilty pleasure?”

With a silly smirk he replied, “Ummm … I suppose I’d have to say QVC shopping channel.  That’s pretty guilty.  I just love watching the presenters talking about some useless piece of shit equipment for 45 minutes.  So yeah, that’s my guilty pleasure.   Haha, either that or Nigella Lawson.  When she’s licking her fingers in her dressing gown, I can’t turn it off.”

“Give me the frickin’ clicker.  You may NOT choose tv tonight!  You are beyond salvage.”  She laughed as she tried to grab the remote from him.   Having an extra foot in height gave Richard the advantage.  She had no hope in reaching the remote (or anything else) he decided to hold over her head.   Her solid head-butt to his stomach solved the problem with the added bonus of being able to tease him about getting his arse handed to him by a woman, and a small woman at that.   Fortunately, he didn’t barf on her.  With evil glee, he imagined the expression on her face if he had done - it would be all out war and he would undoubtedly lose. Good grief - when did his mind turn to imagining being intentionally sick on a person??? Meg was a dangerous influence!!!

They settled on a documentary about money scams and proceeded to debate it for an hour after it was done.  Richard thought it was almost too easy to get Meg riled up – she took the bait every time while he sat back to wait until she finished her latest abstruse rant.   Unfortunately for him, she'd eventually figure out what he’d pulled and he’d end up with either an unpleasant chore or being forced to beg, literally beg, for forgiveness.   It would seem that either neither of them were a quick study, or they simply enjoyed the battle.   The latter was the odds on favourite.

Richard was mesmerized by Meg’s mercurial nature.  She was a walking disaster one moment, a bawdy teenager the next and then she’d morph into a sophisticated, intelligent professional who exuded confidence and grace.   She was never boring.

He was beginning to suspect that she was the most sensory person ever created.   If he observed everything she said or did through a sense lens, he found he could understand her peculiar speech and actions.  

Her food was always an explosion of complementary flavours.   Even her scrambled eggs had pizazz.  His scrambled eggs were the result of a quick whisk and two minutes in the microwave, which was something Meg made him promise to never speak of again, deeming it blasphemy against eggs.  

Her clothes were always the softest fabrics, even if they often looked hideous.  He daren’t wonder about her underclothing – but if forced to guess, he was pretty sure they would be of the finest silk …. or maybe fur lined. Don’t go there, damn it.   His naughty smirk belied his refusal to consider that topic.

The music she listened to was melodic and harmonious or completely obscene … and she always managed to turn it into an assault on the senses.  Twice he thought his ears would bleed listening to her sing.   _Jet Boy Jet Girl_ was the worst.   No matter what she did with sound, or how badly she did it, she committed to it fully completely.  That made it almost bearable.   Almost. 

Touch was apparently her ‘go to’ sense.   She was forever touching anything and everything she came near.   It initially unnerved him how often she invaded his personal space and touched him.   It seemed like Meg was constantly swatting, hugging him,  holding his hand, feeling his forehead for a fever, giving him a punch, swiping his hair out of his eyes, putting her arm around him, you name it, she did it.   It wasn’t until he saw her doing the exact same things to Fanny and some neighbourhood children that he relaxed.

The second time they watched a movie together she stretched out on the couch and used his leg as a pillow.   That was enormously awkward for him, but apparently as normal as breathing for her.  He quickly learned to accept that if her hands could reach it, she was going to touch it and if she liked it, she was going to hug & hold it without reservation or restraint.  He was mostly sure that he was happy to be on the hug & hold list.

If he closed his eyes and observed her through his other senses, he could quickly figure out which of hers was in control of any given word or deed.   He no longer looked at what she was wearing, he would  feel the cloth and nod in agreement, or not.  He conceded that he really had no right to judge because he had spent the better part of the nineties wearing leather pants (a first degree fashion crime by all accounts).  It was ironic that she had twice asked for his opinion on what she should wear.   It was a textbook case of the blind leading the blind.

For her part, she was getting to know him much better too.   He flinched a little bit every time she touched him without warning.   She’d learned to make some kind of noise to alert his proximity sensors and keep his heart from going into arrhythmia.   She also restrained herself from touching him at least 60% of the times she normally would have done, for which she was immensely proud.

He clearly didn’t share her concern for the continued good health of his friends.  She shook her head in exasperation as she considered his newly developed penchant for scaring the crap out of her.   He moved like a cat – stealthy, slow and ready to pounce.  He’d sneak up on her and either tap her shoulder, jab a rib or say something innocuous so close to ear she could feel his stupid breath.   That deep throated voice of his was going to be the death of her.   She’d scream like a lunatic and he’d chortle, laugh, giggle and/or congratulate himself on his supposed genius.   Seriously?  Her eyes rolled as she grinned at the juvenile nature of it, not-quite-secretly loving it and plotting evil ‘paybacks’.

He was an odd duck she thought.   Yesterday she’d asked him why he was so puerile and, generally speaking, a big silly dork.  He answered with a quiet seriousness, “I’ve never been that cute kid that was forgiven for being naughty.  I think, to an extent, I still do feel like a little boy.  I’m ten years behind, but I’m finally growing into myself now.”  

That settled it: if he wanted to act like a naughty kid, she would simply have to sacrifice her own dignified ways.   Ha!  She made herself laugh out loud at that one.  Poise?  Her?  Not highly likely!  No sacrifice at all to hang out with him in Dorktown.

She’d always figured that by the time she’d reached middle age she would have finally grown up.  Yeh, not so much.   She still felt like a kid at heart, an obnoxious, crafty, inane, naughty kid.   She must be a little-kid-stuck-in-a-grown-up-body magnet.  Fanny, Richard and Meg were the trifecta of immature ridiculousness, and she loved it.  Friendships made in heaven!

All in all he was really a solid, nice guy.  Maybe a bit of a square if his self-analysis was to be believed.  He was the real deal: an honourable gentleman who genuinely cared about treating people with respect.  He was quite easy going and, fortunately, received quality teasing with great equanimity.  

Nourish and nurture were his watchwords, not search and destroy as the characters he played might suggest.  He was thoughtful and generous to his friends and absolutely cherished his family.  It touched her heart how every time he entered and exited his home he used his finger to place a kiss on the family photo hanging by the front door.  She couldn’t respect him more for it.

He wasn’t a spineless wimp though.  She had the (mis)fortune to have a glimpse at the thunder in his heart.   She was there when he received a phone call from a producer who had made many promises regarding the production of his dream project, King Richard III.   The jerk backed out just before final papers were to be signed and, of course, after all of the other potential producers had been excused.   “Mendacious cocksucker!” Richard shouted and then made a roar so ferocious she worried he would bring the house down around them.  She was more than a little frightened at the fury which radiated from his very pores, not for her but for him.   He actually threw the phone, smashing it against the wall.  Later, when he calmed down, he explained to her, “I’m a bit of a brooder, I don’t like confrontation, so I think I supress things.  When my temper does come out, it goes all the way – the kind you can’t apologize for.  Yes, the chair getting thrown out the window.  Those emotions are scary, but hey, they come in useful when you’re acting.”  He gave her a sad smile trying to reassure her that everything was going to be ok.

Richard and Meg teased, cajoled, pranked, instigated mischief, and even encouraged and comforted each other.  On the surface they seemed as different as night and day.  But on matters that were truly important, they were in synch, sharing the same core values.  This friendship was right on the money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Richard the DIY geek and truffles


	10. Stress Relief With Benefits

Richard appreciated Meg’s stress reliever, baking, and she appreciated his, DIY.   It was such a complementary set of habits.   It also sent them off into fits of laughter at each other’s expense.  They each thought the other was far too easy to rope into a huge job fixing or baking something.

When he arrived at Meg’s to fix some cabinets in her office, she gave him an eye popping “hubba hubba ding ding” look and said “You didn’t tell me you were HOT.  Baby shake that tool belt!”  

He picked up a pillow and threw it at her with an exasperated telling off, “You make gagging sounds and an extreme nausea face over pictures which meet with The Army’s enthusiastic approval and then you see me grubby and wearing a tool belt and you think I should sign up for Magic Mike II.  You have got to be joking!”

Suppressing a naughty leer, she thought to herself "He did have a point when he’d told her that he thought he looked better grubby, dirty and in the dark.  Don’t go there Porter!!!!!!"

“But … but … those jeans, that shirt, those tools, that scruff and … and … well, it inspires a pretty passionate picture!” she teased with a mock pout.

“Lady, my idea of a passionate weekend is doing DIY.  I’m pretty handy with a screwdriver.  But is that sexy?   I don’t think so.  I’m just a geek who likes DIY.” He groaned.

“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.” She muttered under her breath.  Trying to find safer ground, she asked “Ok DIY geek, what payment do you demand for fixing the cabinets?”  When she saw him staring off into space wihtout a clue, she asked.  “How do you feel about truffles?   There are several liqueurs I’ve been meaning to try with my new chocolate.” 

“Chocolate?   Liqueurs?   Sign me up!   Anything else need fixing? And will it get me more truffles?”  He begged with a hilarious eyebrow waggle.  She adored the forehead crinkles that popped up every time he raised his brows. 

“Whatever.  Come upstairs when you’re done.”  She just shook her head in disbelief at how easy it was to motivate the big geek.  Free labour for a few chocolates she was going to make anyway?   Like shooting fish in a barrel!

The night before she had made a collection of small batches of ganache using her favourite liqueurs:  Chambord; Frangelico; Amaretto; Baileys; Talea; Khalua; Amarula; and Cointreau.   They were nicely chilled and firm, just waiting to be made into delicious little mounds of chocolate heaven.   Meg used a tiny ice cream scoop in each of the ganaches to extract the right amount of creamy scrumptiousness and rolled each morsel into little balls with her hands.   She set them aside to relax and began tempering the chocolate.   She started with the white chocolate and got it to the exact consistency and temperature she needed.   She took four balls of each ganache flavour and individually dipped them into the chocolate, evenly coating them and setting them on parchment to dry.   After repeating the procedure to make truffles with the milk and dark chocolates she felt that there were enough to please his royal DIY Hotness.  Adding embellishments of drizzles, crushed nuts, cocoa or sea salt, Meg was satisfied with the offering.  96 truffles should be enough for fixing a few cabinets, surely? She hand wrapped them and placed them in an antique box she found at the market.   With a big satin ribbon securing the container, the tribute was complete. And it looked mighty fine, if she did say so herself, rather chuffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... bad data, bad clothes, bad Bono & good friends


	11. Roadblock, Arrogance & Humility

Meg should have been on top of the world.   She was just granted a TA for her classes at LSU, her case load was manageable and she had completed the data collection phase of her dissertation research.  She should have been but she wasn’t.   It looked like she had screwed up the data.   A preliminary review revealed nothing but gibberish.   Six years down the feckin’ drain.   Bollocks!  She was surly and wanted to pick a fight with someone ... anyone.  But first she would bake.  A LOT.  Maybe she should open a pastry shop.  A big one.

Fortune smiled.   Richard called for snack ideas because the lads were congregating at his house to watch a football match.   She jumped up and down shouting “I’ll cook.  I’ll cook.  And bake.  Whatever you want.  Please, please, please.”   Baking was her best stress reliever and a sure-fire way to avoid the brain cloud du jour. Avoidance was a common psych issues for a reason.   Ph.D. data a mess?  Who cares?  There’s baking to be done!”

A little confused by her freakishly over the top enthusiasm, Richard accepted Meg's offer.   He grabbed a script to read while she engaged in a one sided conversation about sweet vs. savoury snacks.  He was a bit concerned for her state of mental health  (and also his for saying yes to what had originally _seemed_ like a generous offer).    Ten minutes later she was calm, cool, and collected.   “Right, I’ll head out to the shops now and be to your place before 2:00.   Everything shall be ready for you and your chums by 7:00.   Does that work for you?”  He shook his head at her mercurial temperament.

*@*

A couple of hours later a taxi pulled up and out fell Meg and dozens of grocery sacks.   While helping her carry everything into his house he took a look at the mess that was in his kitchen … and he wasn’t talking about the bags and parcels.   What happened to Meg?   Lately she had been looking relatively presentable.   Not today.   She looked like Ratagast minus the bird crap.   He wasn’t critical of, or embarrassed by, her – but he suspected that she would when she later realized how she looked in front of strangers.  Oh well, she’d have everything done and be gone before his friends arrived.  

“Can I help?” He offered, not just trying to find a way to speed up the process in order to ensure her timely departure.

“When I want a sous-chef, I’ll call.  Otherwise bugger off and leave me in peace.”  She replied, tartly.

Richard had come to understand that the greater the volatility of her temper and the size of the baking project, the greater the stress she was feeling.   Commands dripping with vitriol were evidence of tremendous strain and/or pain.  Eventually all that was bothering her would spill out without ceremony (or decorum?). He knew if she started swearing in that super colourful, creative way that she was going to be ok. Until then, he'd just do his best to stay out of her way and wait.

It wasn’t much later that she shouted, “Where the hell are you?  Armitage, you are the sorriest excuse for an assistant on God’s green earth.  Get your overpaid butt in here and get to work dammit.”  For the next ten minutes she barked orders at him like a grizzled army sergeant.

Waiting for a pan of chili seasoned walnuts to finish roasting in the oven, he remembered to tell her that he was going to Africa for a few days to do some promotional work for an economic development charity spearheaded by Bono.

“Oh please tell me you’re not one of THOSE.”  She ground out between clenched teeth.  Evidently she was still spoiling for a fight.

That started a bitter battle of words with Meg’s disdain of Jeffery Sachs and all of his ‘lackies’ (Bono, Geldof et. al.) ground under the heel of credible people like Dambisa Moyo and Nina Munk.   For Richard, the lives impacted by Bono, Geldof and their colleagues was the proof in the pudding of their methods.

“PUH-LEASE.  You know nothing of the world.  Don’t talk to me until you bring your brain out from its cryogenic storage tank , you idiot wanker!” 

The look of astonishment on his face was priceless.   Meg started laughing and ran to him, not even stopping to wipe her messy hands.  “You are awesome!   I may not like the instrument of change you are espousing, but I adore your commitment to your fellow man.  And it is so wonderful to have an argument with somebody who neither acts superior to, nor is intimated by, me. YOU ROCK!  I could argue with you anytime.” Hiding a naughty smile, she purposely put batter handprints on his butt when she hugged him.

He was right. Following her orders to the T and keeping his head down was the order of the day.  At least she was no longer glaring at him with poison daggers shooting from her eyes.   Swearing was sure to begin any time now - she seemed ready for the next phase of Meg-isms. A little hesitant about poking the bear, he gambled on the direct approach.   “So, what’s up?  You’re not quite yourself this aft.”

When he didn’t flinch or falter, she opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t get the words out … and then she broke.   First the lip quivered, the eyes scrunched up, then nose started to run and the struggle for air between sobs grew exponentially.    He opened his arms and she ran in for another hug which was clearly the only means of survival in this cruel world.    Her face was mashed into that weird place between his chest and stomach which was not even remotely comfortable.   “Why are you so fucking tall?   You’re breaking my neck you bastard!”   

He silently chuckled, pleased to hear her swearing again.   “Hang on, I’ll be right back”.   He reappeared with a sturdy stool and helped her onto it.   “This is for when my nephew comes over.”  

Looking at him eye-to-eye she started to cry harder and louder.   Meg threw her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life.   She registered only the vaguest awareness of how easy it was to see his soul through his eyes.   While she contemplated everything from the reduced worth of her professional life to the colour of his eyes, he murmured little reassurances in her ear and stroked the back of her head.  

Without warning she pulled back and grinned, “I’m not a dog you know.  You don’t have to pet me and call me a good girl!”   Then she gave him a big, noisy kiss on his cheek and ruffled his hair.    “Thank you Richard. I love you almost as much as chocolate.”

He sniggered at that and swung her around a couple of times before plunking down her on the floor.  “Well that’s high praise indeed.   I am honoured!” Becoming serious again he hesitantly asked, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

She morosely replied, “My Ph.D. is FUBAR.”

“FUBAR?”

“Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.”   Tears and sobs were threatening to overcome her again.  “The study’s complete and I was reviewing the data when I discovered that it’s bollocksed.   Six years of work is now just as good as toxic waste.” And with that she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Richard sat downside her, gently draping his arm across her shoulders and waited for the waterworks to drench his shirt again.   But they didn’t come.   She was completely quiet against him.   This was new and somewhat perturbing.   He expected and was prepared for swearing, tears and/or wracking sobs.   He was thrown by her silence.  Just when he was convinced that she had passed out, she stirred and looked up at him.

“I don’t think I can start again.  My doctoral dreams are dead.   I had come to grips with the fact that I’d never be Dr. Dr. Track.  Guess I just have to accept that I’ll never be Dr. Dr. Porter either.”   She said in a whisper as silent tears fell onto his chest.

His heart was breaking for her.   She was annoyingly passionate about her doctorate, her work and education in all of its forms.  He’d known disappointment in his career – coming close to important roles and losing out at the last minute.   But he’d never had a professional disappointment of the magnitude she was facing.  “Meg, don’t lose heart sweet girl!” he quietly spoke into her ear.  “I’ll be your guinea pig and you can do any kind of test or study on me that you need.”  Silently he hoped it wouldn’t involve needles. “Someday you will have to explain Dr. Dr. Track.”

“It’s official:  I love you more than chocolate.   Just promise that when you become fabulously rich and famous that you won’t forget us little people who believed in you when you were nothing but a DIY geek.”   She ended with the beginnings of a smile.

He groaned, shook his head and looked to the heavens for relief.   “That’s it, it’s back to the kitchen where you belong you heartless wench!” He said as he got up and threw her over her shoulder.

“Put me down you foul misogynist!”  She squealed as she whacked his back and butt.

They worked well together, cooking and baking as effortlessly as if they’d been a team for years.   He smiled as he watched her ebullience return.   They were making quick work of all the recipes she had planned and enjoying it to boot.  

It was dizzying keeping up with Meg’s ever changing mood.   But it was also exhilarating.    He searched for the right way to describe her temperament and was flummoxed.   She wasn’t high maintenance, easy going, laid back, predictable, or wholly unpredictable.   She was just weird. He was growing to like her weirdness more and more.

At 6:45 all snacks, nibbles and sweets were nicely plated and waiting to be scoffed down by a crew of silly men.    Meg was just tidying up the kitchen and almost on her way out when the door opened and 6 strange men tumbled in.   Uh Oh!   She was a total mess and didn't want anyone to see her.  A curious thought interrupted her desire for a surreptitious exit.  When did appearance start to matter to her?  More mysteries to be solved at a later date.  When the new arrivals turned to her she looked like a deer caught in headlights.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Football, Meg and the Lads


	12. Football, Meg & The Lads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your comments, ideas, criticisms and/or requests :-)

“Um … Rich … there’s a homeless person in your kitchen.”  Adam said calmly, trying not to alarm the unfortunate indigent standing only a few feet away.

Sniggering, Richard said, “That’s no bag lady.  That’s my friend Meg.   Meg, say hello to the nice men.”

“Meg Porter, at your service.” She said with a bow and such pomposity that Richard could not hold back a snicker.

Richard pointed to the door and commanded, “Go home, get cleaned up and come right back.”

She raised her eyebrows, not quite sure how to react to such presumptuous orders.  She shrugged and marched out the front door with her head held high even though on the inside she wanted to be zapped out of existence _and_ swat Rich for being such a bossy boots.

Seven pairs of eyes stared at Richard, unrelenting in their judgement and confusion.

“THAT was the incomparable Meg?” demanded Aidan.

“Pfffft – incomparable is the right word.  Let’s just hope there isn’t another like her to be compared to!” cried Dean, shaking his head.

“Rich you talked about her like she was some kind of fuckning 8th wonder of the fucking world – a veritable fucking paragon of humanity.   THAT woman did not resemble the woman you’ve described in any way, shape or form!   What are you fucking playing at?” Martin demanded.

Richard groaned, “Yes that was Meg.  Yes she looked a bit of a tip.  Yes she is a veritable paragon.   And I would appreciate it if you'd treat her with respect when she returns!”   And these Neanderthal arses were his best chums.   With friends like that …

They moved into the living room to get settled for the game.  Mouths dropped as they saw the many bowls and plates of sweet and savoury delights.   

“Armitage this might make watching Leicester City loose in another bloodbath bearable!”   Exclaimed Graham.

Richard smirked; the old adage needed updating.   Evidently, the way to a Neanderthal’s respect was through his stomach.

As they sampled the superb fare, obscene sounds of pleasure were made by all.   Richard snorted when he remembered the infamous Eating of the Chocolate Ice Cream with Ribbons of Dark Chocolate & Pinot Noir Ganache.   Another porno soundtrack was in the making.  Damn, her food really was that good!

As defensive battle lines were being drawn around certain dishes, the doorbell rang.   A hint of trepidation swept across several brows.  Was the bag lady returning or was there going to be competition for the treats they were jealously claiming?

Meg walked in and chins dropped.   Gone was the scary, disheveled crazy person.   Here instead was a completely normal woman who had made the enchanting delectations they were willing to go to war over just a few seconds before.  

“Boys, you remember Meg?!” Richard smugly drawled.

James jumped up to offer her a seat beside him.  “Glad you’re back Lass.  I am so happy to make your acquaintance.”   He smiled his most charming of Irish smiles.

“Oh that spot’s lumpy Meg.  You should sit over here, it’s much better.”  Jed pleaded with big puppy dog eyes while he patted the seat beside him.  

“Neanderthals and their stomachs!” Richard grumbled to himself.

When she initially sat down, Richard was rather chuffed.  Both Meg and the uncouth comments regarding his taste in friends were avenged!  As time wore on he began to get a little peeved.  

Meg was wondering what in the world had just happened.   She seemingly gained seven new admirers in the last hour.   She left feeling like a pariah and returned to be treated like Galadriel.  For the next hour she was the centre of the universe in Richard’s living room.   She was charming, urbane and, amazingly enough, entirely food spill and stain free. 

These louts were falling all over themselves and it was damned embarrassing.    And what was with Meg acting all ‘Belle of the Ball’?   Was she actually enjoying this sugary flattery and attention?   Good grief!   He hadn’t heard a single profanity or any potty humour from her in over an hour.  He wouldn’t wonder to hear that she had 7 dates with 7 yobs by the end of the evening. 

Bloody hell.  They were supposed to be here to watch his beloved Leicester City Foxes hold off the detestable Queen’s Park Rangers.   They weren’t here to ogle and schmooze his bloody friend.   Dark and broody didn’t begin to describe his rising mood.

A motion from the centre of the Meg-is-so-amazing universe caught his eye.   She was getting up and moving towards him.   Hmmmph.   Did she think him worthy of her precious time now?  So what?!?!   Shit, she wasn’t walking to him, she was picking up empty dishes and heading to the kitchen, humming.  She didn’t trip and she was almost in tune.   Un-fucking-believable.   He looked outside to see if pigs were flying.

When a couple of the lads rose to go help, he waved them away.   “No, sit, relax.  I’ll go.”

He walked into the kitchen and his heart thudded to the floor when she turned around.   Who was THIS Meg?   She was the professional Meg with a dash of baking Meg and some other Meg whom he hadn’t met yet.   She looked lovely in every way.  Her clothes were flattering and appropriate.  She had delicate jewellery, subtle make up, soft waves in her hair and a brilliant smile.  Her lips looked immanently kissable.  She fairly well glowed.  He was sure he stepped into an alternate dimension.

“May I help?”  He asked, horrified by how timid he sounded.   Damn, not four hours ago he held her as she cried and threw her over his shoulder which made her laugh.   Now he would just jump in hole and hide if he could.   He had never felt so rattled in all of his born days.

“No worries.  I’ll take care of the caterer’s duties. You should go back to your game and your friends.  What a fun evening – thanks for asking me back.   Your friends are fantastic!” She cooed. 

“Yeh, fan-feckin-tastic.”   He whinged under his breath.

He wandered back to the living room more confounded than he’d ever been.  He sat in the spot that Meg previously occupied much to the dismay of the gaggle of eager swains.   All grousing stopped when Meg came back into the room.    Seven pairs of adoring eyes followed her every move.  Neanderthals!

Was he hallucinating or was she wearing heels?   She walked without causing a major calamity?   He better check the weather because he was certain hell was about to freeze over.  She gracefully placed the bowls and platters on the table and stepped back beside Richard with her hand resting on his shoulder, smiling into his eyes. 

He glanced up at her in confusion.   She was Meg.  But she wasn’t.   She was the 8th wonder of the world and a paragon of femininity.   She was standing by him with such natural, easy affection.  “I dare not hope. I never was fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.” He said to himself … and then he crumbled.  

“Well fellas, the game is well underway, the snacks are in good order and all of this testosterone is not copacetic with my feminist sensibilities.   It was a pleasure to meet you but now I am away.”  Meg blew them a kiss and waved.  

“May I have the recipes you used tonight, Meg?”   Adam shyly asked.

“Of course you may.   And if you give me enough notice I’d be happy to make any of them for you.”  She tossed her mobile phone to Adam and said to him, “let me have your deets and I will email them to you tomorrow.”

She bent down and whispered in Richard’s ear “I am so happy that you’re having a good night with great friends.  They are almost as wonderful as you are!”  She gave him the lightest of kisses and cupped his cheek with her hand.  “See you soon you big baboon.”

Richard was borderline incoherent for the rest of the evening.   He barely remembered his friends leaving.  They seemed to have had a good time but he couldn’t recall a single thing any of them said or did since Meg walked out the door.   He was dumbstruck.  Flabbergasted.  Speechless.   Stunned.   He was falling for Meg “Freaking” Porter.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... his heart


	13. His Heart

Who was he kidding?   There was no ‘falling’.   He’d fallen – past tense.  He loved her, was in love with her, was completely smitten by her.   No.   Meg was NOT the love of his life, could not be, should not be, would not be!  “Oh but she was, is and will always be!” The little voice in his heart insisted.  

Think!  He had to think this through, logically, rationally and practically.  Ok, that was a good idea.  Make a list of all of the reasons this was as wrong as wrong could be.

Reasons he was not attracted to nor could he love Margaret Joan Porter:

  * She was unbearably short
  * She was sometimes so unattractive that she made him cringe
  * She was bizarre
  * She would be a PR nightmare
  * She was older than him
  * She was from a country far, far away



The only real reason to cringe at that moment was from the shame of being such a git.  How she looked?  Was he insane? What a disgusting hypocrite!  He hated the sound of his voice, the way he looked, everything.  He was gangly and always wanted to be inches shorter.  He found it quite funny – no it was hilarious - to be considered a sex symbol.   In school he was a beanpole with a nose he hadn’t grown into. It was true, he had an odd face.  He always wanted to look like somebody else.  Appearance should never enter into it. He couldn't believe he could even think of the superficial. He felt like a manky prat.   There was nothing wrong with the way she looked!  Not two hours prior she looked absolutely lovely in every way.

Any 'image' challenge Meg might have was purely superficial.  Nothing a stylist couldn’t fix in an afternoon.  He should have been so lucky.   He grimaced as he remembered the pain of having his teeth fixed and the discomfort he would have gladly endured to have the long coveted nose job. If he'd had her easy image problems, he would have been a fortunate man.

He tittered at the idea that she was older than him.  Ha!  Technically maybe, but in all of the ways that mattered, they were at the same level of ‘young at heart’ aka silly fools.   There was the issue of having kids – probably too late for her to consider pregnancy.  But there was more than one way to make a family and body clocks shouldn’t pull the plug on a soul mate.  He gave himself a shake at that thought, was he jumping the gun or what?!?!  

The whole foreigner thing was a real concern.   One of their first conversations was about their love of their home towns.   She loved Canada and being Canadian.  He loved England and being English.  They both adored their families and hated to be separated from them.  Would it be fair to ask one of them to give up their home and family?   Could he move to Canada?  He suspected he couldn’t. Could she be happy living in England permanently? He suspected she couldn't.

It’s true that she could be very bizarre and had the potential to be a PR nightmare.  He felt lower than scum to even consider her “impact” on his career.   How shallow was he?   And that little voice was casting big doubts on this point anyway.   Didn’t she have an enviable reputation in a very serious career?   She may well have the ability to be a PR dream.  The Army often said how they wished him to be happy.   He was quite sure they would rally around her if he declared he loved her.

Ok.  Next he must consider the reasons he was attracted to and loved Margaret Joan Porter.

  * She had inspirational integrity
  * She was intelligent, generous, compassionate, kind, thoughtful, passionate, affectionate …
  * She was braver and more adventurous than anyone he ever met
  * Her sense of humour and enthusiasm were outrageous
  * She was hard working
  * She was fun to be with, never ever boring
  * She was open, expressive and called a spade a spade – no passive/aggressiveness in her character!
  * She was a super amazing cook/baker
  * She couldn’t care less about his image or fame
  * She cleaned up nicely - very, very nicely
  * She was modest, moral and loyal
  * She was not even remotely possessive
  * She was encouraging and supportive
  * She was the least ‘needy’ person that he’d ever met
  * He suspected that she would be an enthusiastic lover
  * His friends worshipped her - to a nauseating degree



He could find no dampeners for her positives.  He had found only mitigating factors for her negatives.  If he thought that a Pros & Cons list would put paid his foolish notions, he was sorely mistaken.  In fact, the little exercise did the exact opposite.  He had every reason to love her truly, madly, deeply.

Could it be true?  Had he actually found the love of his life?   His one Twu Wuv as she called it?  Yes, yes and yes.   But could she love him back?  Could he be her Twu Wuv?   Dread was creeping in, stealing his new found joy.

How could such a creature love him?   She abhorred style over substance (reconcile that with his industry, he dared anyone), she had no discernible attraction/preference for him, she highly valued education and he had never even attended day one of university, she made no bones about finding him unattractive and he was certain that her ‘hot’ comments were mocking taunts.    He highly doubted she could or would love him as anything other than friend.

It was astonishing how rapidly his fright had turned to euphoria and then to anguish.

Well, there was only one thing for it.  If it was friendship she wanted, friendship she would have.   He’d be the best damned friend anyone ever had.   He would see her happy no matter the personal cost to himself.    And, oh yes, there would be a cost.   He would have to steel himself to be able to bear all of her touches, all of her affection, all of her attention.   He would see it done, damn it!  There was no choice, not for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... her heart


	14. Her Heart

Well, wasn’t that just the oddest evening of her life?!

She wondered what Richard said to his friends when she left to shower and change.   They were certainly singing a different tune when she returned and the contrast was startling.

It had been a very long time since she was sought out or treated as desirable by men.   She was disconsolate as she remembered the route that particular journey had taken.   She hadn't been the most popular girl in school but she had sufficient ‘choices’.    She met Alec in second year of University.  With Alec she was cherished and felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.  Any attraction to other men dried up, even when he was posted overseas.  She found it annoying when guys would hit on her and not take no for an answer.   She suspected that was the impetus for her trip down the horrendous fashion path.   Without giving it much thought, she did everything she could to discourage attention from guys.   When Alec was home on leave, she always made an effort to look her best and judging by the way he gazed at her, her efforts were a resounding success.

After he died, she tried to ‘get back in the game’ by updating her so-called look and going on lots of dates.   It was all a resounding failure.   She wasn’t interested in casual sex and it seemed men her age weren’t interested in waiting to fall in love before sex.   She had lots of first dates.   Many second dates.  Several third dates.  A few fourth dates.  And no fifth dates.   

Her Twu Wuv died and so do did any inclination to be presentable, both physically and behaviourally, outside of work.   Fanny found it ridiculous that she was a consummate professional – in manner and style – whenever it was needed and a totally schlub when it wasn’t.   However she looked at it, what started as a defense mechanism had evolved into an unconscious habit which she was not able to easily break.

It didn’t escape her notice that she was making little changes since that day she attacked Richard.   He had a subtle way of encouraging her to doff her protective shell and don a more ... contemporary style.   He wasn’t predatory and had no ulterior motives; he didn’t really care what she looked like and in fact, he seemed to take greater delight in the more ridiculous things she did and wore.  A subtle nod, an appreciative look made her curious to see what would happen if she actually _tried_ to look nice on purpose.   She tossed several of her saddest, most offensive clothes and had purchased several nice new pieces.    

Tonight’s attentions gave her a heady rush.  Even if it was at Richard’s command, the lads’ zeal was most enjoyable.  He took a horrid day and suddenly made it worthwhile.   _How did he do that?_   He did it spectacularly even though he was uncharacteristically grumpy for most of the evening.   She hadn’t seen him like that before and would have to figure out what happened.   He wasn’t a person to mope for no reason.

He glowered at her for most of the evening.  It made her so uncomfortable that she decided to leave as soon as she topped up the food.    She felt a slight shiver in him when she put her hand on his shoulder and then when she kissed him goodbye.   Did she offend him so much her touch was abhorrent to him?   _No, it couldn't be that. Could it?_

The thought that she could be repulsive to him was shockingly painful.   She wasn’t sure when his good opinion of her had begun to matter … but it did … a lot.   _Good grief!_   He was breaking down walls, inspiring her to make an effort, making her think about finding her Twu Wuv … _what the hell?!?!?_   Curiously, the idea of dating in order to find Him held no appeal what-so-ever.   If she had the opportunity, she’d prefer to hang out with Richard.  He was far better to spend time with any other man she knew.   In fact, his company was the only one of any importance to her. 

 _Uh oh._ A petrifying idea was taking shape.  She was putting an effort into her appearance and manners for him/because of him, she highly valued his good opinion, she enjoyed spending time with him so much that she was uninterested in spending time with any other man, she looked forward to seeing/talking/communicating with him to the extent that if a day went by where she didn’t, the day felt incomplete, and then there was tonight …

When she was getting ready to leave, she stood close to him with her hand on his shoulder – composing the perfect portrait of a happy couple.   In front of attractive men who could conceivably be potential dates, she softly kissed Richard on the lips, which was a first.  She’d kissed him a dozen times before – but it was always a big friendly smacker like one she’d give her sisters or an aunt.  Despite being chaste, this kiss wasn’t like that at all.   And she cupped his cheek?   If she had taken out a billboard to say “I’m his and he’s mine” she wouldn’t have been less subtle.

 _Richard?   How could it be Richard?_ She sighed, heavily.   _Oh … that’s how._    He was everything she admired and nothing that she didn’t.   He had integrity, intelligence, compassion, patience, generosity, gentleness, feistiness, impeccable manners … oh, he was a veritable smorgasbord of all that she found important and desirable.  It was mildly disconcerting that his voice could turn her into a mewling, moony little twit;  that she could get lost in his eyes; that when he held her, the deep loneliness which had taken up residence in her bones after Alec died was completely obliterated;  and that there was a little too much truth in her declarations of his DIY hotness.  

But why did Richard have to be her Twu Wuv?   She stood a snowball’s chance in hell with him ... “I dare not hope. I never was fainthearted before; but I cannot believe such a creature cares for me.”   What was she to him?  She was an eccentric friend with a little talent for perplexing him, making him laugh and giving him food he enjoyed.   That wasn’t the basis for the romance of the century.   She was short, kind of lumpy and weird.  He was tall, built like Adonis, more beautiful than David, stylish and had impeccable manners and presence.

On the bright side, he did enjoy their friendship.  Well, there was only one thing for it.  If it was friendship he wanted, friendship he would have.   She’d be the best damned friend anyone ever had.   She would see him happy no matter the personal cost to herself.    And, oh yes, there would be a cost.   She would have to steel herself to be able to bear his care and concern … and the devastating inevitability of him dating and eventually marrying.   She would see it done, damn it!  There was no choice, not for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time .... Meg escapes to Canada


	15. Fly Away Home

It could never be said that Meg and Richard weren’t true to their vow to be friends.  What neither counted on was the bittersweet consequences ... falling ever more deeply in love. The generosity and devotion they showed to one another as friends multiplied their carefully concealed feelings of love.

Over the next few months they became both more comfortable and more uncomfortable together. They could spend an entire evening with one another reading and be perfectly content. They enjoyed challenging each other with silly and serious adventures.  They introduced each other to their own interests and had a great time crossing things off their bucket lists.  They didn’t notice that whenever they were together, they had near constant physical contact. Leaning on one another, swatting, tickling, an arm around a shoulder ... a million little touches.

It was perhaps providential that Richard was known for his ability to smoulder on screen.  In real life, they were masters at the art of disguising their feelings for each other – no mean feat. They constantly thought of each other in the most desirable way they could and then suppressed the desire to do anything about it. They were simply unable to say what they felt, leaving them to smoulder. Richard once said you can smoulder with your back. How unpleasantly true for each of them.

He dreaded the upcoming film shoot in LA. The story was fantastic, the director was top notch, the cast was exciting but there was one critical flaw – it was three months and 5,400 miles away from Meg. What if she started dating while he was gone? It didn’t take a genius to see that she had come into her own as a lovely, desirable woman. The idea of some mug’s hands on her made him apoplectic.

Richard was a little depressed and Meg knew it. She did everything she could think of to cheer him up but it wasn’t working. It fact, it seemed to be having the opposite effect. She wondered if her Big Secret was building a wall between them. In a last ditch effort, she decided to just come out with it and ask, “Richard you haven’t been yourself lately and I want to help but don’t know how. What can I do for you? If it’s me that’s the problem, you have to say so.”

He snorted. She was the problem all right. But not in the way she thought. If she only knew, she’d go running for the hills. The only acceptable answer was to tell as much of the truth as possible. “For the first time I dread going far away to film. I’m missing everyone and haven’t even left yet.” He silently added: _Yeh, I’m missing you so bad it hurts - and you’re right here with my arm around your shoulders._

She was chagrinned to feel a little relief. She was distraught at the thought of him being gone for so long, she was going to miss him dreadfully, she felt the pain of it already. And then there was the irrational part: even though he said several times that he could never date a co-star, she had a pertinacious fear that he would meet someone while he was gone. He wanted to have a family and her biological clock had run out so he was due to meet the future mother of his children anytime.

His last few days in London were odd, to say the least. One moment they were hyper-happy and the next they were somber and quiet. They made a whole host of promises and assurances regarding the efficacy of texting, talking and Face Time. The day he left, their friends and family could honestly say they had never encountered such morose souls. It was heart wrenching to look at them.

As Fanny’s car pulled out of the airport access, Meg could only stare out her window with silent tears streaming down her face. As his plane taxied down runway, Richard could only stare out his window with silent tears building under his lashes.

After a couple of weeks Fanny was fed up with Meg’s mood swings and told her, that in no uncertain terms she would either have to snap out of it or go away. Meg chose the latter.

Time with her sisters in Canada was just what the doctor ordered. It was impossible for the Porter Sisters to stay sad for very long when they were together. Oh, they could bicker, infuriate and generally annoy the crap out of each other, but they could never leave one another hopeless or helpless without doing everything in their power to uplift and encourage. Rosemary Clooney had it right in White Christmas

_Sisters, sisters, there never were such devoted sisters;  
_ _All kinds of weather, we stick together the same in the rain or sun.  
_ _[Three] different faces, but in tight places we think and we act as one.  
_ _Those who've seen us know that not a thing could come between us._

Richard noticed the change. He was happy to hear her return to that silly, imaginative crazy woman he loved so much. He was a titch disappointed that she didn’t seem to miss him in the least. She was having a grand old time without him. How bitter-sweet! He wanted her happiness and that’s what it was all about. He’d eventually have had to adjust to life without her anyway, no sense putting off the inevitable. She was happy, his job was done. He'd rather die, but it couldn't be helped, it was time for him to think about moving on.

Meg returned to London and threw herself into her work. She missed Richard so desperately she had to do everything in her power to distract herself. An unexpected windfall was that she discovered what happened to her doctoral data. It was a series of data entry errors. She was nearly delirious with relief and happiness. She tried several times to tell Rich the good news but was having a terrible time connecting with him. He had warned her that when he was filming sometimes he concentrated so hard that he had to shut out the world so that he could maintain the character. She didn't want to interfere with his work or his process but she had to admit she was a little disappointed that she couldn’t tell him about this. Eventually she sent a short text because not telling him about the data recovery was getting awkward.

Richard’s sporadic (at best) and terse responses to texts were not going unnoticed. Meg wanted his happiness and that’s what it was all about. She’d eventually have had to adjust to life without him anyway, no sense putting off the inevitable. He was happy, her job was done. She'd rather die, but it couldn't be helped, it was time for her to think about moving on.

***************

Texts were all that were left and they eventually fell off completely too. Thus it was something of a shock when Richard called her out of the blue. His house sitter had quit and the alarm was going off in his house. She lived closer than anyone else and he needed her to go check it out with the police. Hearing his voice was sweet misery. He sounded tired and maybe a little standoffish, but it was his wonderful voice and that was the best sound of all.

She grabbed the spare key he had given her and headed off to his house to meet the police. The police took the key and entered the house, securing it. There was no indication of attempted entry so they left her with instructions to call if anything was missing.

Being there in his home opened the floodgates. She could feel him as if he were right beside her. She lied down on the couch, covering herself with one of his sweaters and cried herself to sleep. A strange noise roused her and she became instantly aware of someone trying to enter the house. Looking around for something to use as a weapon, she grabbed the fireplace poker and held it like a baseball bat. “Who’s there? Don’t come any closer, I have a weapon.” She shouted, trying to sound confident, big and strong.

“Oh hi. Sorry to disturb. I’m an old friend of Richard’s and he said I could come by to collect a cardigan I’d left here. It’s supposed to be hanging in the closet in his office. I’m Annabelle by the way.” said the woman.

Chagrined because she had forgotten to lower the poker, she gave a nervous little titter and said, “Hi Annabelle, I’m Meg. I was just doing a housesitting favour for Richard and fell asleep on the couch. Sorry about the poker – I’m not really that dangerous.”

The two women looked at each other and laughed. It was an odd situation, to be sure, but making polite small talk was easy enough while they searched for the cardigan (which was in the Richard’s closet, not the office).  Meg invited Annabelle to join her for a coffee, and she happily did.

They chatted comfortably for nearly an hour. Annabelle was Richard’s ex-girlfriend and Meg couldn't understand how he could let her slip through his fingers. Annabelle was a lovely woman: tall, pretty, confident, an accomplished actress … everything Meg wasn’t. Annabelle still cared for Richard and always would, there was no bad blood or ‘irreconcilable differences’, they just drifted apart under the pressure of horrid schedules.

As she saw Annabelle out, she reminded herself that Richard’s happiness was the important thing and then her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. She wished he'd found happiness with someone like Annabelle. On her short walk home she wondered how to get back to level. Meg’s sisters cured her last time, maybe they could this time too. The next day she called Layla and Dani, inviting them to London. They were elated and promised to be there in ten days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... wedding plans


	16. Reunited and Wedding Plans

By the time Layla and Dani arrived in London, Meg was a wreck. She was exhausted, depressed and all around pissy. The Porter sisters were vehemently intolerant of anything that smacked of self-pity. They were merciless in their demands of their eldest sister. After a couple of days, Meg began to rally. Her feelings for and about Richard hadn’t changed in the least, but her attitude and behaviour with the innocent bystanders in her life did a 180. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault that Meg was forlorn. It was high time she stopped punishing her family and friends for her own foolish weakness by being in wrotten moods all the time. The Porter Sisters went on full tilt mode … they did everything London had to offer, including embarrassing shenanigans in a failed attempt to get a reaction out of the guards at Buckingham Palace. They were coming up on the end of their visit and felt they needed to end it with a bang.

While inventorying past escapades, Dani had a brainstorm. It was high time they repeated the classic “Wedding Guest of the Year” adventure. What they had in mind would require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But if they were careful and clever they believed that it could be done. They were going to crash a wedding and leave as honoured, much loved guests.

Luck (good or bad remained to be seen) was with them. They scoured the newspaper and found a wedding & reception for Saturday. They purchased a wedding card and withdrew some cash from the bank machine. Everything was set. All night long they giggled and snickered in anticipation of The Big Day.

The next day as they were having brunch, the doorbell rang. Dani ran downstairs to find a very haggard looking fellow leaning against the door as if he couldn’t stand up for one more moment. When he looked up at Dani he was clearly perplexed, almost comically so, “Is Meg home?”.

“Oh sure, she’s just upstairs. Wanna come up?” Dani said between bites of toast. She bounded up the stairs with Richard trudging up behind her. He could hear Meg laughing with someone else and the sound both lifted his spirits and took the wind out his sails at the same time. No matter how painful, he had to see her, even if it was for the last time.

“Who’s at the door Dan?” Meg said, as she looked up. When she saw him her glass dropped from her hand, shattering and spraying cranberry juice all over her slippers and legs. She forgot all intentions of hiding her feelings from him and she sped across the room. Meg catapulted herself into his arms. She was lucky for two things: he was standing in front of the couch; and he had sense memory of catching leaping dancers. She still knocked him over and they landed on the couch in a tangle of arms and legs, but there were no concussions or broken bones.

Holding his face in her hands, she smiled into his eyes, “You’re home.”

He had a fragile hope that what he saw in her eyes was the answer to his prayers. With more courage than he thought he had, he asked “Am I?” He held his breath waiting for her to put him out of his misery one way or the other.

With a gentle nod she said, “You are.” And she kissed his lips, soft as a whisper and hugged him sweetly … but not for long. His arms tightened around her like a vice as he leaned into her and she returned his embrace with equal vigour. Their kiss deepened and they were utterly overwhelmed.

Reluctantly they parted lips and beamed at what they found in each other’s eyes.

“Agape mou.” She said as she held his gaze. She caressed his face, tracing his lips and lightly grazing them with her own. She let her hands fall to his shoulders and marvelled in the solid feel of him.

“Âzyungal, menu tessu.” He said, stymying her. “My lover and love, you are everything. It’s … it’s Khuzdul.” He said sheepishly as he let his inner Tolkien nerd fly free. “you spoke in Greek?”

“Mmhmm English seemed simply too ...ordinary.” She chuckled. “Apologies to the noble poets.”

She laughed at the gagging sounds her sisters were making and he let out an awkward huff.  He rolled his eyes at the utter goofiness of the grins on their faces.

He gently stroked her cheek and she pressed into his hand with the biggest, most loving smile he had ever seen. He kissed her. It was the first time he had kissed her first and he tried to be gentle but he couldn’t … he was consumed by her and wanted every millimetre of her, body and soul. He crushed her to him and never wanted to let go.  

“Hey, get a room! You’re not alone you know. Let’s keep it PG!!!” Layla groaned.

Richard and Meg laughed out loud, hugging each other tighter.

“You look like crap.” Those were the words she said, but he heard “You’re exhausted, my love. How about a glass of wine; a warm bath; a soft bed; 12 hours sleep; and my heart for when you wake?” All he could do was nod ... and grin like a Cheshire cat.

Meg was just starting to get up when she heard Layla’s puzzled voice, “So, shall we get going with the wedding plans?”

Richard fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Get me to the Church on Time


	17. Get me to the Church on Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your comments, ideas, criticisms and/or requests :-)

Richard had a terrible buzzing in his ears when he regained consciousness, horribly disorientated. When he saw her, he knew everything was going to be ok. She was holding his hand, murmuring strange little comforting sounds and trying to decide how to help him. He started to smile but suspected it looked a little off because she had a puzzled frown.

“So, are we doing ahead with the wedding or not?” Demanded Dani.

There it is, thought Richard. Yep. Suddenly he had a whole new appreciation for what Bilbo felt when Bofur explained dragons. Consciousness was highly overrated.

“What do you think Rich? Are you up for it?” Meg asked him, apparently she was a little skeptical.

He took a huge gulp of air and gave himself a little shake. He never really thought this would be his type of engagement story but the end result would be the same and they had already exchanged “I love you’s” and maybe a wedding wasn’t too far down the road anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Absolutely, let’s do it.” Now that he said it out loud, the idea was growing on him.

“Ok, go home to shower and change and we’ll pick you up in an hour.” Meg said excitedly.

“An hour?” He squeeked. Meg looked at him with alarm. She never could have imagined his chocolaty baritone could make that kind of a strange sound.

“Richard do you know all the words to any sappy love songs? We may be able to contribute to the entertainment at the reception.” Layla asked.

The room was spinning again. Hold on Armitage – this is no time to develop a case of the vapours.

“Maybe … you’re not going to ask me to sing are you?” When had his whole universe spun so violently out of control? He better get out of there before they announced Meg was pregnant. Good heavens, he had just kissed her for the first time … he was pretty sure they hadn’t made a baby in the last 10 minutes. Surely he would know, wouldn’t he????

“We’ve got everything under control Brutha. You don’t need to worry about anything. Just be ready in an hour.” Dani was trying to be reassuring, he guessed.

An hour later a cab pulled up in front of Richard’s home. He walked out the door and the youngest two sisters’ mouths dropped. Dani and Layla elbowed Meg and stared at her as if they just now understood what she’d been on about for the last couple of months. He OWNED that sidewalk. A person should need a license to go out in public looking that good. Meg smirked, “I know, right?!?”

Richard climbed into the cab and gave Meg a red rose he had just picked from his garden. That little floral gesture received high accolades in the form of three simultaneous ‘awwwwww’s’. He turned to Meg and joined her in a private, silent conversation. “I love you.” “And I you, my dear heart.” “I have never been so happy.” He kissed her hand, “The best is yet to come.” They said everything with no words at all ... all the while looking like the most love sick fools ever to walk the planet.

When he looked closer at Meg something seemed a little off kilter. She was wearing a lovely LBD. She looked great but, even as sartorially challenged as she was, would she really wear black to their wedding? That just didn’t sound like her.

“So tell me about this wedding. What do I need to know?” He asked.

“Well their names are Harry Pierce and Ruth Evershed. They are getting married in the Methodist church just over the river. The reception will be at 5:00 at The Pavillion. We’ve got the card and have added your name to it. All we have to do is make sure we are the nicest, most supportive wedding guests. It’s a little risky but fun to make a toast if you feel up to it. Meg says you have a wonderful singing voice so it might be scary-wonderful for you to serenade them at some point. Franny is going to meet us at the church so we have to save a seat for her. ” Layla explained.

“Wait.” He said, looking at Meg. “So it’s not us getting married?”

“You and me? What?” She gasped. “You thought WE were getting married today?” She burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. Dani and Layla caught on and started giggling too but poor Richard just sat there dazed and confused.

She took his hand and held it to her heart. “Oh my sweet love. We’re going on an adventure – we’re crashing a wedding. I adore you but don’t you think that it would be apropos to go on a date or actually say ‘I love you’ to each other in our own language before rushing off to the altar. I’m also pretty sure the asking is up to you, not me.” She said a little shyly and then tried to kiss him but couldn’t form her lips properly for laughing.

He tried, and failed miserably, to strike an “I knew that” pose.  Awkward was a generous description of how he looked.

“Whoa, back up the truck.” Meg was incredulous. “You mean you got into this car thinking we were on our way to our own wedding?”

“Yes?” he mumbled.

Tears were threatening her pretty eyes. She couldn’t catch her breath and he knew what to do. He had been on this ride before and it didn’t frighten him one little bit. He turned his suit jacket inside out and pulled her to him. Stroking her hair and murmuring gentle assurances he helped her to regain her equilibrium. She grinned when she saw that he knew to save his poor jacket and he didn’t seem to mind doing so. She grinned more when she saw how proud he was of being her white knight. She reached up to meet his lips and gave him a huge, noisy kiss.  He hadn't realized the tears he was trying to help with were of happiness, not of any harsh emotion.

“Better?” he whispered.

“Yes, much. I am a little delirious knowing that you would actually take that extremely scary leap. You have no restrictions on where our future may lead. The world is wide open. You are my hero and I love you with all my heart.”

He kissed her again and wouldn’t have stopped had The Sisters not started their gagging sounds again. He laughed, bringing Meg’s hand to his lips and then holding it over his heart. He couldn’t believe this spectacular day, it was far better than anything he dared dream of when he boarded his flight the previous night.

“So, you’re actually experienced wedding crashers? I’m a virgin at this, so be gentle with me.” He winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Wedding Bells & Dancing Shoes


	18. Wedding Bells & Dancing Shoes

As Richard and the girls emerged from the taxi they looked like a rock star with his groupies. They were arm in arm, laughing and strutting. They entered the church and took their seats on the groom’s side, saving a spot for Fran. Thankfully she wasn’t far behind and found them straight away. Her eyebrows shot up when she noticed Richard and her mouth dropped open when she saw the two of them holding hands and staring dreamily into each other’s eyes. Fran looked at Dani and Layla for some kind of explanation but they just grinned and shrugged as they made kissy noises at Richard and Meg. The whole Porter family was about as mature as a Grade Three class.

The service was nice, giving the ‘guests’ an opportunity to pay special attention to the wedding party. They collected, analysed and disseminated information on the guests better than MI-5. They were on a mission to ‘search and enjoy’. The primary goal was to make the legitimate guests have a wonderful time. The secondary goal was to work up enough credibility to be able to talk and dance with the happy couple.

They ate, danced, sat down with the older relatives, played with the children and everyone loved them. By 10 pm they knew so much about the bride and groom they could speak lovingly and intelligently about their choice of honeymoon locations, their china pattern, if they would stay in his house or buy a new one … all of those details which everyone who knew the couple would know.

Richard was the first to dance with the wedding couple. Meg was impressed and didn’t want to be outdone by a fellow on his very first wedding crash so she danced with Harry twice! Harry and Ruth were delighted with their “spouse’s family and friends” .

The wedding was fun in and of itself. Great deejay, good food, nice guests, a couple who were deeply in love. The risk of getting caught added an excitement to the night which was naughty and exhilarating. It was easy, and dangerous, to forget that they weren’t really supposed to be there.

For Richard and Meg’s first time dancing together he expected that there would be bandages, sprains and rent clothing based on Meg’s inability to walk and chew gum at the same time. He was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t flail about like Elaine on Seinfeld. Granted, she was no Evelyn Hart, but at least no one was getting hurt.

She found it difficult to follow the more formal dances but he was so enraptured by having her in his arms, he just couldn’t care less. Maybe someday he would teach her a few steps … but tonight, he was more than happy just swaying to the music like they did in grade school.

He had worried that their height difference would make it all very awkward. It was a long way to bend down to see her face (which always seemed to get squashed in his sternum) but none of it really mattered. He didn’t think she minded much either – it felt like she was purring and had no intention of relocating.

While dancing with the other guests, he hadn’t been watching Meg, Fanny or Dani and, as it turned out, they were up to no good. The next thing he knew, the DeeJay was calling for Richard to honour the happy couple by singing their favourite love song - Color My World by Chicago. Those girls were going to pay – big time. Richard took the mike and made a sweet toast and dedication to Harry and Ruth. He thought his voice was crap but he made the best of it.

_As time goes on, I realize just what you mean to me._   
_And now, now that you're near, promise your love that I've waited to share_   
_And dreams of our moments together._   
_Color my world with hope of loving you._

It was not hard to sing that song with feeling. He might have been looking at Harry and Ruth, but he was singing it to Meg.

He was shocked to receive a standing ovation when the song was done. The only applause he needed was from Meg. He beamed because she had given him that and so much more. This was ‘their’ wedding and he was proud to have given her a gift she wanted, his love in song.  When did he turn into such a sappy fool?   He was giving himself a toothache from all the sugary nonsense - and grinned like an idiot with no intention of changing a thing.

They all left the reception arm in arm, singing and laughing. He enjoyed this touchy-feely Porter thing. He loved to see their smiles as they hugged each other, sometimes for no reason. Their hugs, arm linking, hand holding, little touches fed each other a steady diet of affection which made him happy.

He had a truly great night, he wished he could thank Harry and Ruth for having them. It suddenly dawned on him that they had consumed food and drink which was never intended for them. He was aghast when he realized that they basically stole from those good people. He started to tell Meg that what they did was horrible and she understood what he was thinking and feeling.

“No worries love. We gave them €1,000 in the card. We could not be the source of misfortune on their wedding day!”

How could he not have guessed? She might spill something on someone, swear at them, launch herself like a projectile at them … but she wouldn’t take such selfish, mean spirited advantage of anyone.

“Awwww, group hug.” Grinned Dani as the girls danced around Richard the Maypole. Much squishing of arms and backs and chests was had by all.

They all collapsed on the couch talking about the various highlights of the evening. He shook his head as he watched them hold hands, put an arm around one another, rest a head on a shoulder, all of the little caresses he saw Meg do every day without thinking. They loved each other unconditionally and with gusto. It was riveting to watch them, so open and free and generous with each other. He laughed and thought that he had missed out by not growing up with sisters. Damn good to have this lot now though. He was massively fond of each one and was warmed to know that his affection was returned.  He hadn't forgotten about their making him sing and would have to figure out something audacious for revenge.

He wanted to be alone with Meg. He REALLY wanted to be alone with Meg. With three other women in the house it hadn’t been possible all evening. He fell asleep on the couch waiting for them to go to bed and didn’t stir when Meg gently arranged a blanket and crawled in beside him. That’s how he woke the next morning, with a warm fuzzy blanket and his Meg snuggled into him on her big comfy couch. Well, he couldn’t say that they’d never slept together. He wondered when they might do that without so many layers of textiles between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Porters Don't Run & Hide


	19. The Walk of Shame

Richard stayed for coffee, breakfast and a recounting of the previous night’s adventures which had already started taking on legendary status. He shook his head at the way the three sisters talked in shorthand. One would start a sentence and the other two would finish it together. They were constantly hugging each other, patting each other on the back and playing with each other’s hair (his own personal torture). Even though there was nothing inappropriate in the way they touched each other, he couldn’t take the expressions of bliss on their faces – especially with the hair thing. He wondered when he’d be able to put a look of bliss on Meg’s face (and not from innocent contact).

Richard decided to head home just after noon. He didn’t want to leave, and they didn’t want him to either. But he wanted to shower, change, and put his luggage away. As he was walking down the street, he laughed out loud at the realization that he was doing The Walk of Shame but that he really did just fall asleep on the couch. He warmed at the thought of legitimately doing The Walk.

Meg called later that afternoon inviting Richard to join them for dinner and a movie. He tried to beg off thinking they should have sister time without him cramping their style. They would have none of it. They arrived at his house with rope and a blind fold, kidnapped him and took him back to Meg’s. They would have made horrible criminals – there was far too much laughter involved in their little plot.

When they arrived at Meg’s, Fanny was just ringing the doorbell. Big cheers went up from all and they insisted she join the fracas. The five of them made dinner together, enjoying several debates, they got Meg riled up at least twice (evidently a popular sport for all of her friends and family), played a modified Truth or Dare, and talked about what’s coming down the pipe in all of their lives.

Dinner was not quite as rambunctious as the dinner scene at Bag End in the Hobbit. There were a few pieces of food thrown, a lot of laughing and a few bad manners though. Once again Richard was struck by the enthusiastic affection which was freely shared. He had a wonderful family but nothing prepared him for this gregarious warmth and physicality.

They had decided on the adaptation of _Light Between the Oceans_. Maybe a chick flick, but Richard was outnumbered on this one. He thought it could be interesting to watch the women while they watched the movie to see what impacted them. Maybe he could pick up some new ideas to use in his own work. It might not be so bad after all. He grinned to himself, and he’d be able to sit in the dark with Meg. There might be some groping!

Richard was pleasantly surprised by the movie. He was engaged very quickly and decided to forego his professional research. He did keep his arm around Meg and it occasionally slipped a little, making both of them smirk like naughty teenagers. The ladies tittered like silly girls when they caught him trying to steal a kiss. They also shared very detailed tips on exactly what he should and shouldn’t do when attempting to get amorous with Meg. Meg was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face and she begged them to stop. Richard embraced his role as brother/boyfriend to this lunatic fringe. He was coming to adore his new sisters.

Richard left them at Meg’s house so that they could have some “quality chick time” as Fanny described it. Layla and Danni were due to leave the next day so it seemed fair to give them some time alone. He wondered if they’d talk about his ineffectual efforts to grope their sister. He could just imagine the snickers and comments and grinned at the thought of the undoubtedly bawdy conversations they would have.

He went to sleep that night both happy and just a little frustrated. They’d said “I love you” more than 24 hours ago and still hadn’t been alone together. They’d have all the time in the world to discover this new relationship – her beloved sisters didn’t have the luxury of time. Knowing how much her sisters meant to her, Richard was more than happy to put his wants aside for Meg.

Things weren’t quite so altruistic and mature at Meg’s house. The dissection of the movie took a back seat to the dissection of Richard. It was unanimous – he was fabulous. The envious lewd comments flew like crazy as The Girls polished off a bottle of wine. If they felt slightly awkward discussing their new brother in such a way, they succeeded in repressing that feeling. He was divine and they wanted to enumerate the how's and why's.

Fanny led an attempt at devising a devious mission whose purpose was to put Meg in Rich’s bed that very night but they were stupefied by Meg’s reaction. Her eyes got big, her mouth was cemented in a grim line and all of the blood drained from her face.

Meg ran from the room crying and locked herself in her room, unable or unwilling to speak for the rest of the night. She was cast into despair. She cried herself to sleep with the certainty that she and Richard were over before they had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Porters Don't Run & Hide


	20. Porters Don't Run & Hide

Both of the Porter sisters enveloped Meg in their loving support, to no avail. She was despondent. In the airport security line, Meg confided that as much as she wanted to be with Richard, she couldn’t be with Richard. That was as clear as mud!  Running out of time, it was agreed that Dani and Layla would FaceTime Meg as soon as they got home – and that she better be prepared for some hard truths because they’d have 10+ hours to come up with a whole list of reasons she was being an idiot.

Richard went to Meg’s house later that afternoon. He suspected that she’d be feeling a bit homesick with the departure of her beloved sisters. He was glad to offer comfort to Meg, which was fortuitous because when she opened the door, it was obvious that she had been crying heavily. He immediately took her into his arms for a hug and she wailed louder. Richard scooped her up and carried her into her flat.

Meg looked at Richard and was bereft. She was unable to speak and was quickly losing the ability to breathe. He fetched a glass of water and some tissues just before he pulled her down onto the couch to lean on him as he stroked her hair and whispered calming sounds into her ear. That usually worked – but this time he seemed to be making things worse. He suspected that this had nothing to do with the departure of her family.

He continued to hold her for a very long time. She burrowed into him and eventually calmed. He smiled as he heard her snore softly. He continued to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead. Life before Meg was considerably drier – between her tears and drool, he was feeling significantly soggy. And he hoped he’d never feel that dry again.

When she stirred, he lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. He gave her a very light kiss and told her that he was going to run a bath for her and would make a light dinner while she was soaking. She nodded despondently. He walked her to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. As he prepared breakfast for supper (omelettes and bacon rashers), he grew more and more worried. He’d seen a great deal of Meg’s mercurial nature, but he’d never seen this severity of despair.

Meg knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable and she would have to be honest with him as she’d want him to be honest with her if the roles were reversed. She emerged a while later, pale and shaking. When he started to go to her she held up her hand and shook her head. “We need to talk and I can’t do it if you come near.”

The dread which descended upon him was suffocating. Whenever someone said “we need to talk”, it was never good. In a calm voice which belied the turmoil he was in, he calmly said, “whatever it is, we can tackle it together.”

She broke eye contact and shook her head. “No, not this.”

The room spun. He had tunnel vision. He felt the floor rolling beneath him. Waiting for her to say the words he couldn’t bear to hear was torture. “Just say it.” He said, so gruff he sounded angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Confessions


	21. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your comments, ideas, criticisms and/or requests :-)

Meg took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. She focused on the hairbrush in her hand so she didn’t have to look into his eyes. Drawing on every reserve she had, she told him, “We can’t make love and so we must end this now. It’s irremediable.”

Whatever he imagined, this wasn’t it. He stared at her, uncomprehendingly. “Why can’t we?”

“Two things: my body and my mind.” Her voice lacked all hope.

He was dumbfounded. This was the most bizarre thing he’d ever heard. He had no response, he just continued staring.

She summoned her courage and continued. “I have had only one partner. We were together since I was 19 and he died four years ago. I knew nothing at 19 and it feels like I know less now.” Seeing the look of incredulity on his face, she explained “Of course I remember where the essential parts go, but I have no idea how the rest works now. And what’s new and considered standard operating procedure now? I’ve heard people talking about lady gardens, manscaping, and all kinds of things I have no clue about. It is beyond humiliating to be a middle aged woman and not know what’s expected or how to do it – have there been discoveries of new erogenous spots? Because I have no idea.”

She felt better having finished this part of her confession. Now if she could just manage to get the rest out without dying of heartbreak, shame and misery. “As pathetic as that is, there’s more. It may be obvious, but I’m not a 25 year old Hollywood Hot Body. I’m lumpy, bumpy and squishy. I’m too old, too short, probably weigh too much, my boobs aren’t big or perky enough, my teeth aren’t white enough … ” If she didn’t look at him, she wouldn’t have to see agreement in his eyes – she couldn’t bear to see his rejection.

His fear was replaced by relief, immediately followed by anger. Fortunately his anger was supplanted by compassion. Her pain was plainly etched on her face. He nodded, saying “This is a pretty big deal to you. Can we talk about it or do you need a moment?”

She nodded. She wasn’t sure if she could sustain a drawn out conversation but she would try.

“First thing you should probably understand is what’s sexy to me and what isn’t. It’s not about numbers – not age, height, weight, bmi, dress size, chest-waist-hip ratio. Numbers do NOT enter into it. Sexy is intelligence, generosity, affection, passion, honour, adventure, humour, bravery, thoughtfulness, loyalty, health, and a little bit of naughty. How many of those things do I see in you?”

“Two or three?” She asked, dejectedly.

“Not even close.” He said, causing her to look at him in shock.

She thought that was cruel – surely he could grant her two or three.

“You are all of those things and much, much more. I have never met a woman who makes me feel like you do. You’ve had me at a boil for months now and that was when I never imagined you would ever consider me. Do you not remember how my mates were drooling all over you the night of the football match? It’s not just me who thinks you are fantastically desirable.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Now let’s take a look at the whole experience thing. It’snot as tricky as you might think. Before we go any further, I should ask: do you have any learning disabilities or physical impairments that could prevent us from teaching each other how to give and receive pleasure?”

She shook her head, clearly stunned by the direction this conversation was taking.

“It’s good to have a rudimentary understanding of sex. Otherwise it might be shocking for you if you didn’t have any clue as to what is going to happen between us. Personally I couldn't care less about trends or 'new discoveries'. WE will figure out what works for US.” Richard explained.

“But I have no idea about hands and mouths and …” She flushed bright red.

He snorted with disbelief. “Have you forgotten about that kiss two days ago? When you kissed me I was nearly shattered. I remember very clearly how pleased you were and emboldened you became when I moaned. If it wasn’t for the presence of your sisters, well … how do you think that kiss might have ended? You know exactly what to do with your sweet mouth, my dear.”

“But that was just a kiss.” She objected.

“When it comes to mouths, it’s always just a kiss … of sorts.” He winked at her and she blushed.

“As for your hands – don’t even get me started. You are always touching me in little ways that make me frantic.  You are super-humanly perceptive of, and responsive to, my discomfort and to my pleasure. And I have seen how much you enjoy making me feel good! It’s all been in innocent ways up until now, but it’s innate for you and Baby, that makes you a natural.”

She looked mostly doubtful and just a smidgeon hopeful.

“Meg I am absolutely positive that you will not disappoint or hurt me” He said with total certainty. “Unless you’re into hurting me and then I guess I could try it for you.” He teased.

“But won’t you find it tedious and very unromantic having to put up with my ignorance and incompetence?” She ventured.

“I’m not proud to admit this, but it’s kind of cool. Does that make me an unrepentant misogynist? It does feed my despicable chauvinistic tendencies. I want to beat my chest and shout “This _my_ woman”. It’s Neanderthal … but … well … it’s kind of hot that you’re not a sexpert.” He said sheepishly.

“That’s all well and good, but you haven’t seen me naked – and that will undoubtedly be a deal breaker.” She said, almost sobbing again.

He shook his head in disbelief. “I have held you in my arms sitting up, lying down, standing up, and beside me. I have tickled you and poked you more times than I can count. I have tossed you about and lifted you around your waist, under your arms and across your thighs. I have piggy backed you! I have woken on the couch to find us spooning or you draped over me. My hands have, at one time or another, been on nearly every part of your body. It would be impossible for me not to know where you are and aren’t bony. I do know that you are healthy, strong, soft and feminine. You are like silk and velvet in comparison to chain mail. I don’t want to live with or make love to chain mail. I adore that you live your life to the fullest and on your own terms - including but not limited to food - and up ‘til now you seemed to be smart enough not to obsess over a ridiculously impossible image which results in misery and denial.”

She was not convinced. She hung her head in resignation.

“Do you think I'm stupid or that I don't know how I really feel? Which is it?” He adjured her to answer. His decision to be gentle with her had disintegrated. It was cutting to hear how shallow she must have thought he was.

Her head shot up and she met his angry stare.

“Dammit Meg, we are each other’s greatest adventure. We’re not naïve or unfamiliar to each other. We know each other really well – and we have complete mutual trust. I have seen you at your worst: lots of snot; swearing like a trucker; your singing; and revolting fashion. I’ve also seen you at your best: the embodiment of unconditional love; kindness; affection; grace; confidence; and creativity. I love all of you. For fuck’s sake, I WANT all of you.”

She gasped and continued defiantly, “You make a Greek god look like a troll. I, on the other hand, am a plain, sagging mortal.”

He sighed. He had not meant to be impatient or angry. He no longer thought words would change her mind on these preposterous, misconceived inadequacies. He would have to prove it to her. He crossed the room to stand before her. He gently took her into his arms and breathed her in. “With your permission, I will prove _all_ of my feelings for you. I will not manipulate you or force myself on you – it will be up to you to come to me, when _you_ want _me_. May I court you Margaret Joan Porter? ”

She looked up at him, searching his eyes for a moment, her expression indecipherable. Then she gently took his face in her hands and whispered, “You may.” And she kissed him just as she did when she told him he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... Richard courts Meg


	22. Courting

He chuckled when he remembered how he initially thought she was touchy-feely. Compared to the last couple of weeks, she used to be positively stand-offish. He was elated by the hundred points of contact they shared each day. Gone were the friendly touches and in their place were many new caresses and embraces which were definitely not platonic. Ahhhhh, his sweet girl.

She was tentative and a little nervous sometimes, but she continued regardless. One afternoon she watched him lick his fingers after devouring one of her freshly made chocolate donuts. She began to wipe the messy icing off his lips with her thumb. He stilled as she looked at him a little uncertainly and said in a voice much huskier than her normal, “let me get that for you” as, one by one, she took each of his fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean of the sweet glaze. She brought his face down to meet hers and with her tongue made little whisper light flutters to clean his lips. With a no longer shy smile, she thoroughly kissed him. She looked warily into his eyes, assessing his reaction. Fortunately she had no difficulty reading his expression and could easily feel the tremors coursing through him. He took her hand and placed it over his heart, “this is what you do to me”. He knew she could feel his heart race. The look in her eyes was worth more than gold. He loved to watch her trepidation turn to relief, then to confidence and ultimately to mischief. She was building an exciting repertoire just for him. Ahhhhh, his naughty girl.

It was everything he could do not to ravish her as she played with him in these sweet, affectionate, naughty ways. He knew how important each of these experiments were to her. He had promised that she would be the one to initiate sex. He worried that, until then, all of this self-control might just kill him.

He was intentional in the way he would hold, hug, and tickle her. While he did want to know what she enjoyed, primarily he wanted her be comfortable with his touch - especially when it was on a part of her body where she lacked confidence. He was overjoyed that she made soft little sounds of happiness when he came up behind her, clasped his hands around her waist and pulled her in for a hug. She had been the most self-conscious about her belly but was losing a little bit of her guardedness each day. Ahhhhh, his brave girl.

He was having great fun with this whole courting business. He brought her flowers, wrote poems, made playlists, cooked dinner, composed a song for her, read to her, brushed her hair (making her purr), serenaded her, took her hiking and geocaching and did as much DIY as possible (her eyes would twinkle at his DIY ‘outfit’). The only ambivalence she had shown was when he bought her an antique sapphire bracelet. She thought it lovely but preferred that he spend his time and thought on her rather than money. He doubted that she would ever cease to amaze him.

She was thrilled. She was addicted to finding ways to make his eyes darken and his heart race. She warmed at the memory of that night they had watched Roman Holiday while spooning on the couch. His breath on her neck was sending shivers down her spine. She wiggled her bum into him and giggled when he grunted. “You do that again and I will have to go commando in gym pants or risk disappointing you forever.” It was a rush to know the effect she could have on him.

~ ^ ~

She was staggered by his attentions. He had always been imaginative and generous but he had quickly became a superlative suitor. He was creative and romantic, finding every possible way to make her swoon for him. She thought she would faint each time he held her with a tenderness she never imagined existed. There was no place she’d rather be than in those arms. She was sure she had out of body experiences when he brushed her hair and every single time he kissed her. He was gentle but persistent in the way he systematically awakened that part of her which had been sleeping for far too long. She was no longer sure why she was waiting …

~ ^ ~

He was downright chuffed every time he made her laugh. She understood that feeling – she was giddy when she made him happy too. She snickered remembering his work on the lights in her office a few days previous. Clearly he had harkened back to her previous comments about looking hot with a tool belt because he hammed it up to great effect. He pouted, smouldered and strutted for her. He had made a playlist of smutty songs and lip synched Marvin Gaye’s _Let’s Get it On_. She was pretty sure that she had been seconds away from passing out from hysterical laughter – she could not catch her breath during that performance.

~ ^ ~

She was extremely thankful that he had not been seriously hurt when he got a shock while wiring the lights that day. Her smile returned when she thought about the way he responded to her concerns for how he was feeling. “Twitchy.” He grimaced and then he pulled her down on top of him and begged for CPR, just in case. When he was done kissing her, it was Meg who was feeling twitchy, indeed.

~ ^ ~

Just last week she asked him why he never played the cello for her. He raised one eyebrow, smirked and said, “I’ve seen your iPod and am certain my cello would not do justice to _Blister in the Sun_ or _Pretty Vacant_.” A few days later he asked her to sit on his cello chair. He slid in behind her and gave her a private music lesson. There were many double entendres and eyebrow waggles which made the lesson fun, naughty and thoroughly provoking. That was a cello session she would never forget.

~ ^ ~

While they definitely had a great deal of fun together, they also shared their most serious thoughts and memories. They spoke about their dreams and nightmares; their hopes and fears. He held her and wept with her when she told him about her Mom's passing. She was incensed when he told her about a disgusting director who had date-raped one of his co-stars. There were no thoughts or memories out of bounds - they talked about life, the universe and everything in between. It wasn’t the least bit awkward discussing their romantic pasts.

Richard had been with Annabelle off and on for nearly 20 years. He had nothing but admiration and affection for her. It was his ridiculous obsession with taking every single job offered to him which he blamed for them drifting apart. He was simply away far more than he was home. There was no drama, no angst ... they parted as friends. She would always have a tender place in his heart.

Meg told Richard all about Alec. He listened intently, blown away by her once again. He was profoundly moved by her loyalty and honour. Despite being separated for months at a time, her commitment did not waiver. She even went so far as to create an alternate persona (fashion criminal Meg) whose primary purpose was to discourage any man from being attracted to her - other than Alec. She knew that if Alec had lived, they would have spent the rest of their lives together. She had come to understand that their relationship was perpetually in the honeymoon stage – seeing each other for 2-3 weeks every 4-6 months didn’t give them the opportunity to get beyond ‘best behaviour’ and she wondered how they'd have coped once he retired. There had not been anyone since Alec because she refused a physical relationship without love. She wanted to be sure Richard understood when she told him that while Alec was a love she would have spent her life with, it was Richard who was the love of her life.

~ ^ ~

Meg noticed that they always seemed to be at her flat and spent very little time at Richard’s house. She asked him why they spent little to no time at his place. He told her that “The place looks a bit of a tip but I tend to see it as organized mess myself. I don’t have a cleaner so if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. There are books everywhere. And scripts. Your place is homey but so clean and tidy – I just thought you wouldn’t be comfortable at my place with all the mess.”

She briefly wondered if she should be worried about how easy it would be for them to jump to conclusions or have massive misunderstandings. They were going to have to work on this repressing concerns thing, not an easy task for two people who often turned inward. Looking at the expression on his face, she forgot about all concerns, and giggled.

She gave him a look which made it clear she thought him an idiot of the highest order. “My place is only clean because I thought you’d be really be grossed out by how much of a slob I am. Each time I’d been in your house, it was immaculate. Oh Agape Mou!”

He gave a great huff at that. “I like my own space and once my door is closed I can turn into a bit of a monster. I’m really quite messy. I can stay at home and not wash and not shave and it’s hard to do that with somebody else. I am certain it would be utterly impossible to do that with anyone but you. I knew you didn’t mind when I was a grungy DIY geek but never imagined …. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know you’re secretly messy too and you won't mind my pigsty!!!!” He seized her around the waist, twirling her about the room and kissing her face and neck. “You know, when needs must, I’ll happily clean up for you! I might even wash my arm pits.”

~ ^ ~

She was cherished. She was his sun and moon and stars. She was beautiful and desirable. She could make his pulse race. He would slay dragons for her. And she was just beginning to appreciate the depth and breadth of his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... The Bath


	23. The Bath

Last night was the most incredible of her life. She chuckled because it certainly didn’t start out that way. She was still reeling from it.

She had found the problem with her Ph.D. data – it was keystroke errors. The good news was that all of the information she collected over the previous six years was still valid. The bad news was that it all had to be re-input. She trusted no one else to do the work at that point, so took on the long and tedious chore of entering it into her computer program all on her own. 

She had come upstairs from her office exhausted and bleary eyed. When she saw Richard there with a dinner which would have been delicious an hour or two before, she felt awful. She stood him up and ruined his dinner! When she began to apologize, he interrupted her.

“No, no, no, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. If I could help you, you know I would. There’s not much I can do for your doctorate … but I _can_ make coming home a little easier. You need to detox so go put your robe on and I’ll run a hot bath for you. When you’ve done soaking out all the aches and pains, I’ll have something ready for you to eat. These things, I know how to do.” He bestowed upon her his most charming smile. He had done this incredible gesture for her before and she loved it each and every time. No one ever nurtured her and he did it with such aplomb, she had butterflies in her stomach.

She was in awe of him. She launched herself into his arms, revelling in the rich rumble of his laughter and in the solidity of his embrace. He reluctantly let go and gave her a little nudge to get ready for her bath. She trundled off to her room and collapsed on the bed, grinning and giving thanks for the wonderful blessings in her life. Meg felt like the richest woman on Earth - and she giggled thinking there must be a pun in that somewhere: the _Rich_ est person? She heard the water running in the bathroom so she peeled off her work clothes and donned her tatty terry cloth robe.

Entering the bathroom, she gasped. He created a mile high bubble bath, set candles about the room and placed a glass of wine on a little table beside the tub. He grinned when he heard her gasp and felt quite chuffed about her reaction. He gave her a sweet kiss and a wink, backing out the door and closing it behind him.

As she slipped into the heavenly bath, she heard him singing and banging around in the kitchen. He was music to her ears and to her heart. She relaxed so completely, she dozed off, later roused by a small sound and she thought she should probably open her eyes, which turned out to be hard work. She was certain she was still sleeping and was dreaming … because she saw a naked Richard walking towards the tub. She grinned – this was a nice dream and decided that she didn’t want to wake up.

“Move up just a little, love. I’m going to wash your hair.” He said in his velvety smooth baritone.

She scooted forward a little and felt him enter the bath, embracing her from behind and pulling her back to relax against him. He whispered and kissed her neck and that weird spot near her ear which made her crazy with need.  She sighed with deep and abiding happiness.

Richard was relieved. It could have been a disaster, she could have freaked out about being naked in the same place at the same time … but she didn’t. She was relaxed and happy. He was euphoric. He wrapped his arms around her and began to hum in her ear. She recognized the tune but her mind was too dazed to name it. When he sang those familiar words, tears of love and happiness glistened on her lashes.

_As time goes on, I realize just what you mean to me._   
_And now, now that you're near, promise your love that I've waited to share_   
_And dreams of our moments together._   
_Color my world with hope of loving you._

Turning and tilting her head so that she could see him, she reached her arm up to bring his face down to hers and kissed him with all of the love in her heart. She whispered into his mouth, “Âzyungal, my cup runneth over.”

“Agape Mou, The life that I have is all that I have and the life that I have is yours.” He answered her.

As he washed her hair she was certain this was the most beautiful moment of her life. He was gentle, calm and silent. When he was finished, he lightly urged her forward and eased himself out of the bath. He wrapped a towel around his waist and held up the robe for her to slip on as he nodded for her to step out of the tub.

He wrapped her in her robe and led her to sit in a nearby chair. He slowly dried her hair with a towel and continued his ministrations by combing it until it was smooth. He led her back to her room where he cupped her face with his hands and gave her a languid kiss. "Jammies, Meg. Then dinner," he instructed.

He left her to get dressed and to finish her dinner. She came into the kitchen and hugged him, turning her face up to meet his eyes, his gorgeous eyes. He brushed the hair off of her brow and kissed her on the sides of her lips before claiming her mouth in a searing kiss. He broke off the kiss when he felt her stumble as her legs nearly gave out under her. “Look at you. You’re already better than you think.”

He smiled into her eyes hoping she could see everything in his heart. “Dinner is ready. You need to eat before we go to sleep.”

They ate in silence, beaming at each other with stars in their eyes.   Their taunts and jibes must have gone on vacation because they were horrifically sweet and sappy with one another.

When they finished their meal, he led her into the bedroom and pulled back the duvet. He lifted her onto the bed and climbed in beside her. He rolled them into their spooning positions and kissed the top of her head, “Sleep my love.”

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... You Can't Hurry Love
> 
> Please let me know what you think ... the good, the bad and the ugly.


	24. You Can't Hurry Love

The next morning Richard awoke alone. He was somewhat disappointed because it meant he missed out on all of the colourful language which was an integral part of Meg’s perennial rush. He picked up a note that she left on her pillow while he slept.  
  
 _Dinner here tonight?_  
 _xo_

He showered and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee. He should have known better. He found a veritable feast awaiting him – coffee in the thermos, strawberry banana muffins, berries, porridge in the warmer, Belgian waffles in the oven, bacon rashers just waiting to be devoured. If he kept eating like this, he was going to be a fat dude. After a hefty breakfast, he tidied up and headed home to prepare for his afternoon meeting.

Meg had a class at 11:00 am which couldn't, unfortunately, be suspended. After cancelling all other appointments she put all efforts into organizing the very unusual day. On her way to LSU she stopped for a mani-pedi. She was more than a little sceptical about such things but her sisters swore by them. There were only a couple of unfortunate moments: she barely missed kicking the pedicurist in the face during her uncontrollable reaction to her toes touched; and then she made filthy, obscene sounds when her feet and calves were massaged. She was pleasantly surprised by the results and thought she could endure that sort of pampering more often.

Fanny provided the name of a good salon and clothing shops near the Uni. With a hair appointment booked and shops listed in her phone, she turned her attention to the menu. What to make, what to make? Nothing smelly or gassy, that’s for sure. Asparagus, onions and garlic were right out. She decided on halibut, a green salad and grilled pineapple. Yes that would do nicely; light, fresh and no breath issues.

She pushed through her embarrassment to call her sisters for advice on the dreaded personal grooming options. After listening to the features, advantages and benefits of French, Brazilian, G-waxing and The Sphinx, very uncomfortable sounding trends, she decided her old tried and true option of ‘neat and tidy’ would just have to do. According to her sisters, even her way had a name, American. She thought this must have been a sign of the end of the world - did people really put that much thought into such a thing. Apparently. Ugh, hopefully it wasn’t a deal breaker for Richard. She couldn’t even contemplate some of those ‘styles’.

The day was going swimmingly. Class was done and next on her To Do list was finding a dress. She wanted something new and pretty – something that suited her personality and also showed off her body to its best advantage. The first shop held nothing of interest. The second had a few nice things. And then she saw it – perfection. It was an Empire waist dress with a silk, sleeveless bodice and a full cashmere skirt which landed right on her knee. It was her favourite colour, deep purple. She tried it on and shrieked she was so excited.

The two inch wide shoulders were cut a little long for her short frame which was a bit of a disappointment. The salesperson pinched up the shoulder seam an inch and the effect was perfect … but Meg didn’t have time to wait for alterations. Oh well, she could make do, afterall the colour and fabrics were outstanding. She moved to the lingerie department to find pretty bits which would work under the dress. She found a line of delicate underclothes that were a perfect compliment for the purple in her dress. She chose a demi bra, panties and a chemise. Yes, those would do nicely. She noticed a display of costume jewellery and had a brainstorm. She would carefully undo the seams on the dress’ shoulders and use brooches to attach the newly overlapped ends. That suited her purposes even better! She had taupe heels at home and thought they’d do just fine – she doubted her footwear would be of any consequence.

It was time for her hair appointment. She was disconcerted because they asked too many questions. Clearly one who did not frequent salons, she didn’t understand why they couldn’t just “make it look pretty” like she asked. After what seemed like days, they settled on highlights, lowlights, a trim and a blow-out of her shoulder length chocolate brown hair. She walked out of that salon feeling like a million bucks. She didn’t want to turn into a cliché … but she was seeing the appeal of the female rituals she had shunned for so many years.

On the way home she stopped at the market to pick up the supplies for dinner and was pleasantly surprised to find she was ahead of schedule. Would wonders never cease?

She prepped the dinner and stood back, satisfied, at the meal and at the lovely table settings she’d created in the dining room. The butterflies in her stomach for the night's plans were on the attack, creating quite the tension headache. She had a cool shallow bath, very careful not to wreck her hair. It felt so good to relax for just a few minutes. She did an inventory of her bits which might require some 'maintenance' and decided they were in good order … well, good order for her. With a slight frown, she hoped for him too.

The new silk underclothes felt like heaven against her skin. She could foresee an addiction to pretty things like these. Next stop, make up. Should she or shouldn’t she? The idea of smears sounded pretty gross but there was something to be said about smoky eyes and lipstick, the latter was definitely the right choice for her plans that night.

With her handiwork on the shoulders of her new dress complete, she slipped it on and fastened the brooches on the seams. YES! The dress was perfect and the brooches added just a little bit of glamour. She spun and watched the dress smoothly twirl around her. Silk lingerie, lots of purple, twirly dress? Best. Outfit. Ever.

She pulled up her favourite romantic music playlist, opened the wine and slowly danced around the flat with her eyes closed. She had more butterflies in her stomach than the local bug conservatory. She turned up the music and started singing along with Van Morrison:

_Well, I wanna make love to you tonight_   
_I can't wait 'til the morning has come_   
_And I know that the time is just right_   
_And straight into my arms you will run_   
_And when you come my heart will be waiting_   
_To make sure that you're never alone_

What she didn’t hear was Richard coming into the flat. He stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. With his head tilted, chin down, one eyebrow arched and slightly bemused, he watched her and didn’t even think his ears were going to bleed. She couldn’t dance and she couldn’t sing but at that moment, _Moondance_ never sounded or looked better.

_There and then all my dreams will come true, dear_   
_There and then I will make you my own_   
_And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside_   
_And I know how much you want me that you can't hide_

Indeed!

She twirled and saw him standing there just watching her with that “come hither” expression that made her heart thud. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh shit, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He laughed at the swearing and walked over to her for a hug. He’d been so distracted by her uncoordinated dancing and wretched singing that he hadn’t really looked at her. He stopped dead in his tracks. “Meg?” he said in a strangled voice. Was this his Meg?

His reaction was better than anything she could have wished for. He was gobsmacked and she was the reason why! “Well hi. I didn’t hear you come in. Sit with me. Would you like a glass of wine?”

He nodded and she had to take his hand to pull him to the couch. He reached down to caress her hair and looked puzzled. She was Meg … but she was different. His lips were parted but he couldn’t seem to speak so he just stared at her with questions ricocheting in his head.

She chuckled and kissed both of his cheeks and whispered seductively into his ear that she had been missing him all day.

His breath hitched and the room spun. He blinked hard a few times trying to clear his head. A part of his brain registered that she’d put her head on his chest but he couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to do next. He patted her shoulder and hoped that was ok – it didn't seem quite right though. He felt her giggle go all through him. That was nice. Somewhere close by he could hear Norah Jones singing “Come Away With Me”.

_And I wanna wake up_   
_With the rain falling on a tin roof_   
_While I'm safe there in your arms_   
  
_All I ask of you is to come_   
_Come away with me_   
_And we'll kiss on a mountain top_   
  


He agreed. Oh, he most definitely agreed.  Between the way she looked, the way she smelled and that damn song ... it was going to be tough to remember not to go cave man and throw her over his shoulder on his way to bed.

She stood up and took his hand, leading him into the dining room. “Thought we might have just a light dinner tonight. You like halibut, yes?”

He nodded as she made a couple of trips to & from the kitchen, bringing platters back with her and arranging them on the table in front of him. He had to give himself a shake to snap out of this. He wasn’t successful. “Hair? New?” He croaked.

“Why yes in fact it is new. Thought I’d experiment a bit – what do you think? Is it ok?” She asked in a tone that sounded quite like teasing. She was making fun of his muddled brain.

“Yes. Nice. Soft. Pretty.” He struggled to get even single syllables out.  His pants had never been so uncomfortable.

She laughed and took his face in her hands. When she kissed him he almost passed out. “You are incorrigible Mr. Armitage, but I love it. I’ll have to remember this for the next time I screw up and piss you off. This may just be my get-out-of-jail-free card.” And she winked at him.

There. That sounded like his Meg. “You look ….” He couldn’t find the right word – there weren’t any which would do. “You are soft fire with a cloud’s grace. O my Lady.”

Between the way he was looking at her and the poetry he quoted, she was began to feel as he looked – incredulous, dazed, smitten, shaken. She had to hold it together for a little longer. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He had said that this would have to be by her leading and she was going to do it up right.

“Wine? ” She asked. He nodded and she poured them both a glass of fragrant Riesling. Throughout the meal she made small talk and he slowly came back to earth.

“You get started on the dishes and I’ll be right back.” She said as she took their plates into the kitchen.

He heard his smutty playlist and wondered, not for the first time, if she would mind if he took a very long, very cold shower. He wasn’t sure what kind of experiment she was conducting tonight, but it must certainly have been listed in the Geneva Convention under cruel and unusual punishment. While he was listening to the soulful sounds of Barry White, he felt small hands wrap around his waist and slide down into his front jeans pockets.

“Hi” he said simply, gritting his teeth. What fresh hell was this?????

“Mmmhmmm” she murmured as she absentmindedly scraped her fingernails along the fabric of his pockets. He had to grip the sink with all of his might to keep from keening out loud.

She stilled and seemed to be contemplating something. She started to pull one hand out of his pocket and hesitated. He heard her slow, deep intake of breath. She rested her cheek on his back and hummed, sending vibrations up and down his spine.

She pulled her hand out again and stepped just a few inches away from him. He was becoming more and more confused, especially when he heard a odd tiny clink on the floor by his feet. The hand which was still in his pocket resumed its tracing patterns. “You better stop playing in my pockets young lady or you’ll be doing my laundry before I go home.” He winced and hoped his voice sounded more teasing than desperate.

He felt her low chuckle against his back as she snuggled into him again. Meg withdrew her other hand from his pocket and place both on his hips, slowly moving them to wrap herself around his middle. She shivered when she felt his iliac crest under her fingers. He was gratified to know she was not immune to him any more than he was to her. He tried to reach behind her to give her bum a playful squeeze but she pressed his hips to, unsuccessfully, to stop him. He felt silk and was confused. He was sure her dress was merino or cashmere. She seemed to sense his confusion and so, taking a deep breath, she tugged on his hips, urging him to turn around.

She had undone the brooches on her shoulders, allowing the dress to fall to the floor in a pool around her feet and was standing in front of him wearing her beautiful purple chemise. Her eyes told him everything he’d longed to hear for weeks. He fell down on his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing her in, kissing her belly. She stroked his hair in that slow, easy way that he loved so well.   

He looked up at her with a silent question, his eyes seeking her intent. She giggled, nodded, kissed him lightly on the lips and tugged his hands upward in a request for him to stand. He scooped her up into his arms much like he’d done the night before – but this time, he had no intention of cuddling her to sleep. Well, not for a few hours at least. He gently set her down on the edge of the bed and stood before her.

He whispered “Âzyungal.” into her ear and kissed her hand, placing it over his heart for his body to confirm what he said to be true.

She barely hid a smirk when he tried, unsuccessfully, to undo his shirt. His hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t manage the buttons or his socks or his belt. He was on the verge of panicking when he realized that his rescue would be immediate, he just had to ask. “It seems I need your help.” He said with an odd little smile. She was thrilled to oblige. It wasn’t the last time he sought her assistance that night, nor the last time she provided it.

 

 

 

Imagine the floral part is silk, the skirt is cashmere and 3 or so inches longer ... and it's all in a gorgeous royal purple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... The Day After


	25. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Pure fluff.

They woke up within seconds of each other, not able to tell where one set of limbs ended and the other began. Meg yawned and stretched, feeling the undeniable reminders of the previous evening. She looked, rather wide eyed, at Richard who was grinning at her like a fool.

“Did - ?”  
“Yup”  
“And - ?”  
“Definitely.”  
“How - ?”  
“Amazing”  
“Breakie?”  
"Please"

She fairly well cooed as she nuzzled into that amazing spot under his chin and then flopped over onto her stomach to gape at him. After a very thorough kiss, he groaned at having to leave the comfort of her bed and got up. As soon as he stood he grimaced and limped towards the bathroom. Looking back at her, somewhat sheepishly, he said “sore knee.”

She snickered because it wasn’t his knee he was favouring.

“Yeh … well, let’s see you walk!” He taunted as he slowly made his way to a hot shower and hopefully relief. She certainly appreciated his journey from where she watched.

Meg got up and was going to join him in the shower when she gasped and almost toppled over. She had taunted him a little too quickly. “Pride goeth before the fall Porter.” She groaned to herself. She didn’t think she'd ever be able to walk again.

“RICHARD – help” she called. He hobbled back to the door and looked at her quizzically.

“Um … can you help me to the bath tub? Please? After all, it’s all your fault that I’m crippled.” She gave him a comical leer.

“Oh no. You’re not hanging this on me. I was an innocent bystander. And I don’t think I was responsible for that last bit anyway! Frankly I think you should be considering the extensive therapy you’re going to do to ease _my_ pain.” He laughed as he put his arm around her waist to help her walk.

“If I could lift my leg, I’d kick your arse! Now, hot bath, Epsom salts and see if there are some muscle relaxants in the medicine cupboard.” She commanded with a giggle.

They propped each other up and shuffled into the bathroom. She looked longingly at the bathtub but suspected there was a very real possibility that once in, she might not be able to get out. They decided the safest thing was to shower together. They groaned as they leaned against each other, hoping that the hot water would help their aches and pains. They laughed as they whinged about their decrepit bodies. She marvelled at the lack of self-consciousness she felt. If anyone had said she be starkers, in broad daylight and in the shower with Richard "Freakin'" Armitage, she would have call the mental health unit for them. She wasn't thrilled with her jiggley bits, but there was too much laughter and too much love for it to matter.

When Meg waggled her eyebrows and asked “So, what would you like to do tonight, Big Boy?”

He snorted and said “Hopefully something that involves a heating pad, an ice pack, loose pajamas and lots of wine.”

“Awwww … you mean I can’t tempt you back to my bed?”

“You’re killing me Smalls!!” He cried.

They laughed and commiserated under the hot shower until they were pruney. Between the water, the banter and a little tentative stretching, they both felt worlds better. With a light breakfast and lots of coffee later, they were ready to face the day.

Richard shuddered when Meg came out of her room after dressing. She was wearing those awful gardening togs again. How could she wear such atrocious clothing but have such irresistible under things? He suppressed a leer when he thought about how much better he liked last night's chemise.

“What are you up to today, my Dear Delight?”

He beamed, “Meeting with Richard Curtis about his new project. The story treatment looks fantastic.” He frowned, ever so slightly, “It’s a comedy. I want to do a comedy but will I end up looking like a complete git?”

She glomped him well and good. “Vicar of Dibley. Comedy and Richard Curtis. Need I say more?”

“You’ve seen that? But I thought …” He trailed off, confused.

She looked down at the floor, up at the ceiling, at her fingers … anywhere but at him. Achieving new values of crimson she said, “Well. A few months ago, when you were off filming, I kind of … sort of … I watched everything I could get my grubby little hands on. Netflix was a boon, by the way. I even considered joining The Army because I wanted to gush about your characters so bad.”

Choking, he spit the last sip of coffee out in a geyser and she pounded his back for him. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do it. Just breathe. I did troll the websites though. I understand that most of these characters were long ago, but I have a couple of burning questions about them … can you talk about them without suffering a stroke?”

Warily, he said “Okay … I guess …”

“Good. Now first question: how did you take Sir Guy from this creepy dude who made my skin crawl to Sex on Legs who I wanted to jump through the screen and do bad, bad things with? Did you use some weird kind of actor magic voodoo spell? It was seriously unhealthy to watch!”

“It was the leather pants ... and when in doubt, do some heavy breathing.”

“Those pants deserve a BAFTA award. They are incredibly talented! On a TOTALLY different subject – you didn’t happen to keep any souvenirs from Robin Hood did you? None of the props … or … maybe, the costume?” She smirked.

“Noooooo. Now stop fan-girling!” He chided with a grin.

“So, no costume souvenirs from any of your roles at all then?” She said, disconsolate.

“Anything in particular?"

“Oh, just random things. Thorton’s white puffy shirt? Or maybe Lucas’ jeans or – oh, yeh, his purple shirt?”

“I was wearing that bloody purple shirt the day we met.”

“So, you ARE open to wearing your character’s clothes?” Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

“NO!!. I must tell you though, I am gutted! After one night you already want other men - some of whom are nasty! I’m beginning to question your morals.”

“Oh, it's all purely academic. I am simply interested in the design and authenticity of wardrobe. It’s important to answer important questions like ‘what’s the cotton content’ … things like that.” She said, trying to look innocent and failing miserably.

“That’s not highly likely! The truth is, nearly all of my clothes are ones I’ve bought for the contemporary characters I’ve played. These jeans were Lucas', so fan-girl away with him and Porter!” His cartoonish smugness was quickly replaced by astonishment when she said,

“At the same time? Whoa, threesomes – or maybe it's a foursome? - are not my cup of tea. It is, however, interesting to consider how you three differ in the bedroom. Any thoughts?”

“You’re a pushy little pervert aren’t you!? There is nothing in the universe which could entice me to even consider that question … or to offer any character reprisal whose purpose it would be to satisfy your depraved curiosity.” He chortled.

“So what you’re saying is there’s no hope for Thorton’s shirt or Guy’s pants – or me getting into Guy’s pants?” She quipped.

“NO! Your brain is pants!!!! Can’t believe I thought you were a ‘nice’ girl.”

“Tsk, tsk. Bad only gained a foothold after meeting you! One could say these debauched daydreams are all your fault!” She said, trying to look as coquettish as possible.

“Get thee to a nunnery!” He chuckled. “So, he said, trying to abruptly change the subject, what are you doing in that lovely ensemble?”

“Oh, you know. A bit of this, a bit of that.”

“A little vague today, are we? Hiding something Miss Meg? You know I will wriggle it out of you. Out with it, wench.”

“It’s nothing. Just a little house keeping. Things like clean under the kitchen sink, dust the light fixtures, clear some space in my closet, maybe empty a drawer or two in the bureau … just boring old insignificant things like that.” She said.

“Closet space and drawers for me?” He beamed.

“I'd kind of hoped they would be for Thorton, Gisborne, North and The Oakenshield.” She laughed, ducking while he was trying to throttle her.

“On that deviant note, I’m away. My house, tonight at 7? Take away and a good video?”

“You betchya. Now go, get yourself into top form for Mr. Curtis!”

“Have I told you how much I love you?” He asked.

“Sounds somewhat familiar – perhaps you should remind me. How much?”

“A bit. I love you a bit.” He slapped her bum and ran away snickering to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still to come: Christmas; skiing; an older man; a starlet; and a train station.


	26. Scenes of a Domestic Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to give one of those"a year later" directions but it felt like cheating. Meg & Richard are happy, but they haven't had the Big Finale, the Ultimate Romantic Moment, the Wedding Bells. There are challenges to get through before that ... and the novelty and honeymoonishness has to be worn off to make room for those challenges. There were all kinds of little bits and bobs which would pop into my head about ... you know, life stuff. So the following is a collection of teeny drabbles which are just pure miscellaneous pieces of a relationship in its first year. There might be seeds which will grow into The Big Angst ... just sayin'.
> 
> If you have any questions about their lives, individually or together, just let me know :-)

“I got it! I bloody got it!” Richard was dancing and laughing and hooting. “Curtis hired me!”

“Was there every any doubt, you twit!?” She laughed with him as he spun her around the floor.

“Darling, no one would ever think of me in a romantic dramedy! This was NOT a sure thing.” He shook his head but couldn’t get the big grin off his face.

“You are an amazing actor and Curtis knows it! Think of Dibley! Think of North & South! Thornton was the epitome of romantic lead! Oh sweetie, how could you ever say no one could think of you in a romantic role? ”

“Well … I suppose I’m a bit mean. My face on camera doesn’t lend itself to happy nice guys. I think it’s just that my bone structure looks menacing. But of course I’ve fantasized about playing the romantic lead and the heroic character. I just don’t think my face suits that.”

“Wake up and smell the coffee Richard ‘Freaking’ Armitage!!! Millions moon over your very handsome, heroic face. Now, give me one of your ‘I’m the romantic hero’ smiles!” She commanded.

When he did a very corny Harry Kennedy smile, she pretended to swoon, collapsing on the floor.

“There’s only one actor in this family, yeah!? You’re beyond awful!” He laughed.

Opening one eye and arching her brow, she said “Hey, I’ve fainted from your massive charm and romantic leading man-ness! I might need CPR. You better revive me! It could require A LOT of CPR.”

“I’ll give you something massive to swoon over!” He waggled his eyebrows, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder on his way to the bedroom.

*************

Richard worked hard to prepare for his role in the new film. While creating the biography of his character (something he did for each new role) he was delighted to bounce ideas off Meg. Having a trained psychologist in the family was quite handy! Meg contributed interesting and relevant insights about his character – or at least about people like him. She was a tremendous cheerleader, loving the whole script and his role most of all.  Despite the many outrageously insulting names she called him, she had unwavering confidence in his ability to shine in the genre. She was, however, horrific in running lines and yet she insisted in doing it. He wondered if she was going to set his craft back 20 years but she had so much fun, he was willing to risk it. He just hoped he’d be able to block out all memory of the ridiculous expressions she used or he’d be seriously distracted on set.

*************

It was great to blow off steam with the guys on Football Night and he was so proud of the super fan club Meg had in them. It might have been the scrummy food she prepared for them – but he was quite sure that was only part of it. Every time they got together Meg had several proposals of marriage and Richard received many “you lucky bastard!” thumps on the back. Graham was starting to worry him a little in how forceful he was when he warned Richard to never, ever hurt Meg or else.  He couldn’t blame them – she really was a wonder, and she put up with all of them with unexplainable affection and cheer. He really should get going on that application for sainthood – she certainly qualified.

*************

He couldn’t get over how seamlessly their lives fit together. He had to give her credit for being easy going. She was there when he needed her, never clinging when he wanted space, always ready with humour and kindness, self-sufficient but made him feel like he was the icing on the cake. Ok, so she swore a little too much, was dangerously clumsy, she had the ability to look like a thrift shop reject, was prone to torrential tears when angered, hurt or frustrated, and heaven help the bastard who looked at her sideways on That Day each month … but she took his breath away. He thought he was a lucky bastard!

*************

Meg was working hard on her doctorate. Very happy to have the data entry problems sorted, she was well on her way to completing a thorough analysis of the results. Writing it up was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated. She couldn’t keep her mind on her writing – every time she settled down to it, she would think about Richard and what new naughty mischief she could get up to with him. She was becoming concerned about how fluffy she was becoming. “Get a grip, Porter.” She chided herself on more than one occasion.

*************

She adored his friends and his brother. They were great guys who’d been with Richard through thin and thick. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that it didn’t half hurt that they made her feel like royalty every time she saw them. When Richard was busy filming she knew she had a dozen new friends who she could ring up anytime and she had so much fun watching them go orgasmic over her food. They had even starting using her office for their bi-weekly Football Nights. The large screen in her office was, apparently, far superior to any of theirs. Meg was suspicious that the real reason was to be closer to her kitchen – a place they deemed to be a holy shrine. Richard’s friends were effusive and generous with their adoration – including anyone who happened to be within adulation range. Layla and Dani thought them all insane, having been on speaker phone when they offered their many, varied praises to Meg, her family, her ancestors and basically anyone or anything she ever touched. In their estimation, her sisters were royalty by virtue of their birth. Fanny was delighted with this arrangement too because it meant that she could casually drop by on Footie Night and bask in the ‘goddess by association’ attentions of the lads. She may have been happily married, but she sure wasn’t immune to old fashioned flattery and fawning. Meg was certain they all set feminism back 100 years!

*************

Meg was adamant about keeping out of the public eye. She refused to attend premiers, screenings or any industry events with Richard. She wasn’t so much concerned for herself, but for Richard and for her clients. She had seen the tabloids, the paparazzi and she hated them. Richard understood and respected her wishes. There were times, however, when he wished she was there with her humour, snarky observations and general ability to make the mundane seem marvellous. There were so many things that he would have loved to share with her but it was out of the question. He wasn’t overly fond of the barriers she erected around his public life, but he respected them. Mostly.

*************

Meg had developed a new addiction. And it was bad. She dropped hints to Richard but was too embarrassed to come right out and tell him. She was a bona fide, albeit under an alias, member of The Armitage Army. She couldn’t help herself. She even lurked on Facebook, Tumblr, AO3 … you name it, if it was about RA, she was there. She giggled with every skulk and had heart failure when she posted comments – if she ever got caught, she’d just die. She checked out fansites for other popular actors and was always impressed with the caliber of Richard’s fans – definitely more intelligent and respectful than those of any other celeb. In her estimation, The Army ROCKED!!!! If Richard ever found out about “Alana”, she would hide under a rock. That kinda made it even more exciting.

*************

There was always something in the offing. They both recognized their workaholic tendencies and tried to soften their schedules. There was a lot of talk about a wilderness canoe trip (from Meg) and a ski trip in France (from Richard). Despite scepticism of each for the other’s grand suggestions, they worked each of these trips into their calendars. Oh dear – Meg skiing? That could not end well. Richard canoeing? That had potential … maybe … as long as she didn’t end up taking a paddle to the back of the head. She didn’t suffer wilderness trekking fools gladly. Potential for disaster? Check.


	27. Tardiness Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twu Wuv certainly didn't turn Meg into a Mary-Sue.

Fan-damn-tastic! Which poncy idiot decided to oversell seats on December 23rd? Ok, so maybe Meg should have arrived the two hours before her flight as the airlines always pontificated. Ok, so arriving half an hour before departure might have been cutting it too close. But she paid for the feckin’ ticket SIX MONTHS AGO! Didn’t that count for anything? Apparently not. Stroppy didn’t begin to cover it.

Ten days. Ten days to spend at home with her family. Ten days back on Canadian soil. Granted, that was ten days away from Richard which wasn’t a fabulous thing … but still … ten days to be a Porter in her own Porter world. And Dad was going to make peameal bacon, scones & strawberry freezer jam, cod cakes, and every other little thing her palate desired. Ten days with her sibs. Shit.

Chances of getting a flight the next day were slim to none, and it looked like slim was booking it out of town. Damn it all to fucking hell.

She was angry, frustrated, disappointed and most of all, pissed off at herself. What was it going to take for her to learn how to be on time? This time she’d messed things up for her whole family. Fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

The only upside of not leaving England for ten days might have been not leaving Richard for ten days. But he had plans – off to Leicester to spend Christmas with his Mum & Dad and then zipping over to his ski chalet in the Haute-Savoie for a few days. Fucking, shitting, arseing, hell. No Porters, no Canada, no Richard … no fucking Christmas. And it was all her fault. Shit, piss, fuck!!!!!

And then the tears started … and it looked like they were going to hang around for the entire Christmas break. She dialed Richard’s mobile but the wracking sobs prevented intelligible speech.

“Meg? What’s wrong? Meg? Talk to me!” He implored her. She was supposed to be on a flight to Toronto and this didn’t sound like a pocket dial … it did sound remarkably like a Meg crying fit and he wasn’t there to help. Fuck. “Where are you love? I’m coming to get you.”

When she didn’t/couldn’t answer, he told her to text him and he’d be there right away.

“Stuck. Heathrow Air Canada departures” she texted and she slumped into a chair unable to move.

Between traffic, parking and a completely messed up GPS which directed him to the wrong terminal (twice), it took nearly two hours for Richard to get to the Air Canada departures area. He saw her sitting there and his heart broke for her. Her eyes were empty, her face slack … and she was pale as a ghost. She was so full of self loathing that she was nearly catatonic. He knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

“Meg, I’m here. Let’s go home. We’ll fix everything – no worries, love. It’s all going to be ok.”

He tilted her chin for her to look up at him and when she met his eyes, he thought he would move heaven and hell to fix this for her. She wasn’t exactly what one would call repressed when it came to expressing the big feels so it was exceptionally disconcerting to witness her sitting torpid and lifeless.  When she put her hopes in something, she went 'all in' and didn't do well if it went pear-shaped. The worst was when she blamed herself, which she clearly was doing. She looked so bleak, so bereft.

He took her suitcase in one hand and put his arm around her waist to guide her out to the car. Shit – he hoped he hadn’t been towed. Phewwwww … one bit of luck that day, car was still there … but there was a ticket. Screw it.

He buckled Meg into the seat and stroked her cheek. “We’ll be home soon, love. I’ll run your bath and we’ll get it all sorted. It’s going to be ok.”

They drove back to Meg’s in silence. She made sad strangley sounds every now and then but otherwise she just stared blankly out the window. When they got to her flat, he led her to the big comfy couch. He sat just holding her and murmuring gentle assurances.

Eventually he felt a change in her. She gave a heavy sigh and said, “I fucked up royally this time.” She explained what happened with her flight and that she was stuck, alone, utterly fucking alone, for Christmas. She'd ruined all of her family's plans. She was a complete idiot and it served her right.

“Wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong and wrong. You will NOT be alone for Christmas. You’re coming with me to Leicester and then to France.” He got up and pulled her towards the bathroom. Motioning for her to sit while he ran the bath, he was started feeling a little guilty about how excited he was for them to spend Christmas together. As the bubbles fluffed up, so did his mood. He had been glad for her to spend the Holidays with her family – she hadn’t done so for two years prior. She hadn’t even seen her Dad and Step Mum last time she was over. But he couldn’t deny the selfish thrill of having her with him in two of his favourite places – with his family and at his chalet. “Stop being a selfish prat, Armitage!” he chided himself.

He went to Meg and helped her off with her clothes and led her to the bath. He doffed his and climbed in behind her. A bath together was always a good idea. It soothed, calmed and always left her feeling either sedate … or randy as hell, and he’d be fine with either result.

She had all sorts of objections as to why she shouldn’t impose on his family or go skiing. He met each one logically with an easy equanimity. He truly did feel wretched that she would miss her family but he was getting so excited that he was convinced he should win a BAFTA for keeping the happiness out of his voice and body language. Knowing he was off to shoot in America at the end of January had cast a pall on an already bittersweet holiday separation, but this new development meant he could spend every possible minute with his Meg. There were huge parts of him doing the dance of joy that she wouldn’t be leaving – and he better be careful or she’d be feeling his dancing parts for herself. "Time and place, Richard. Time and place." He silently admonished himself.

Meg rolled over so she could see Richard face to face. For a coordinated person, this would have been a challenge to do gracefully. For Meg, graceful was a rarely used term. There was a not insubstantial tidal wave and several “ooof” sounds as elbows and knees flailed about. “Sorry ‘bout that. Are you wounded?”

“Not badly.” He squeaked and hoped her bath resulted in the sedate outcome because he was quite sure her knee ensured that he would not easily accommodate anything else.

She saw his grimace and felt his uncomfortable shift. Her eyes went wide and “OH! Oh Hunny I am so sorry … I didn’t mean to … what can I do?”

“I think you’ve done quite enough for right now … just stop squirming, I beg of you.”

She started to giggle and couldn’t stop. Something about squaring a guy never ceased to amuse … what kind of sick and twisted person was she? No matter, the giggles were taking on a life of their own.

“STOP LAUGHING. It’s not funny! You’ve hurt me … and YOU should not only be sorry but should also be worried about any lasting effects. Now stop shaking – you’re just making it worse.”

“Would you like me to kiss it better?”

“NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! Get away from me you sadist!!!” Go! Get out of my bath!” He clearly lacked any awareness of the peril involved should she attempt to get out of the bath given that she was lying prone on top of him. She only laughed harder. “YOU do not speak to me!” He cried.

He tried to slide up the back of the tub but that only resulted in her face being within a hare’s breath of his injury. His eyes widened in shock and fear, and he slid back down into the water. Meg was no help at all. She was laughing so hard she was crying and barely able to breath. Great. Just great. Strike compassionate and empathetic from her list of character strengths.

As he contemplated the few options available for extricating himself from the bathtub, it dawned on him that she was laughing, not crying. In some sick way his pain lessened hers. Pondering the unfortunate nature of this sorry situation, he began to realize that his agony was definitely receding. It had gone from a 10 to a 4 on the pain scale and, if experience was to be credited, it should be down to a 0 very shortly. “Ah, payback’s a bitch.” He grinned to himself, considering how he might use this to his benefit.

Feeling him relax a bit, she looked up and asked “You gonna be ok?”

“Not highly likely. You could have done permanent damage. And all you can do is laugh. You should be penitent, you know!” He pouted, secretly very, very pleased with himself. Playing this up could have some advantages.

“What penance should I pay? You have some ideas perchance?” She asked with a naughty, knowing smirk.

Damn. There went his BAFTA. He wasn’t that good an actor after all – she saw right through him. She knew full well that he was playing her. On the bright side, this remorse business had distinct possibilities and she was clearly happy to go along with it. Now, how to initiate her punishment without drowning her? He’d either have to drain the tub or exit it. There’s something to be said for the comfort of a bed and so the exit option won the day.

Without further adieu, he quickly scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder in a very indelicate fireman carry. He plunked her down on the bed, standing akimbo, “Now, spare no efforts and tend to my wounds. This is your penance, wench!”

She smiled rather naughtily and was very repentant. Exceptionally contrite. Magnificently remorseful. Repeatedly apologetic.


	28. Christmas in Leicester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My teeth are hurting from all of the sappy, sweet fluff in this chapter. But hey, life often has many rough patches making a soft, fluffy flight of fancy just what the doctor ordered. My doctor would order it ;-) 
> 
> Lol, what could one expect with a title like "The Love of my Life" and a chapter about Christmas day?

Meg called her Dad to let him know she missed her flight and wouldn’t be home for Christmas.   If she was expecting him to grieve her absence, she was sorely mistaken.   He laughed.  Damn it all, her very own Dad laughed at her.  He was well acquainted with the odds of Meg arriving on time/at all.   Meg had slept through connecting flights, fallen asleep standing against a pillar while waiting for a flight to be called (missing it, of course) and generally had less than a 50-50 chance of even getting to the airport.   They had a good laugh and her father promised that they’d get together somewhere, sometime and until then, he’d FedEx some peameal bacon to her.

Richard thought her father must be a great guy.  Every time she talked to him the conversations ranged all over the map from intellectual debates to corny puns and to trips down memory lane.   The one constant was that she was smiling and happy each time she hung up the phone from him.  It wasn’t hard to imagine that the father of the Porter Sisters was someone he’d like to know. He looked forward to meeting her Dad and Step Mum next summer on their way to the wilderness canoe trip in Algonquin Park.

*@*

They took their lives into their hands and braved the shops on Christmas Eve morning.   Fools!   Clearly traditional presents weren’t going to offer themselves up in the short time they had left.  They had to leave for Leicester soon and the gift issue was not near resolution until Meg had a brainstorm.  With a little help from Richard, she had it sorted.  A visit to the market and a stop at her flat for some gear and she was all set. 

Traffic was heavy so it was evident it would take longer than the usual two hours to get to his Mum & Dad’s house.  Great, late again. Cue the nervous anxiety. Overall, Meg wasn’t all that surprised that she felt nervous.  She’d met Mr. & Mrs. Armitage twice before – at Chris and at Richard’s birthdays.    But those were parties with lots of people and a narrow window of exposure.   This was entirely different – they’d be in each other’s pockets for several days.   That kind of pressure was never good!  Meg didn’t rise to such challenges, she usually nuked them to oblivion, taking no prisoners. And now, on top of all that, they were going to be late. Cold comfort that it wasn't her fault this time.

Richard knew it didn’t take a fortune teller to predict there’d be consequences when Meg-the-Volatile was stressed and traversing unknown territory.   In so many ways she was brave and adventurous.   Meeting his parents was decidedly not one of those ways.  Richard could see that she was getting ramped up.  Part of him chuckled at the thought of the outrageous things that would probably happen … but the other part knew how devastated she would be if she thought she’d bollocksed it.    His Mum & Dad were already taken with her and they wouldn’t be easily shocked or offended.   Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to convince Meg of those facts.  When she got a notion in her head, she was fiercely stubborn.   He’d have to find a way to distract her and ruefully admitted that they would have limited opportunity for his preferred method of distraction.  He doubted it would improve her temper should she see his parents give knowing smiles & winks after they’d disappeared into his room for an hour or so.  

Baking.  That was the answer.  It was her gift to them anyway so he might as well play to her strengths.     “What did you decide for each gift?   Can I help?”   It seemed to be working, she had that look she assumed when she went into her baking headspace. He loved that look ... only good things came from that look.

“Well, you provided great inspiration.   For your Mum: Pumpkin Cheesecake.  For your Dad: spiced nuts.  For Chris:  Flourless Chocolate Cake.  For Beth:  Rose Petal Maccarons.  For Alex: ‘Smore Ice Cream.  And I thought I’d just do some random cookies for fun. She remembered one of her Christmas presents for him and hoped he'd share without too much fuss.

”You are going to have them eating out of your hand … literally.   And Mum is going to be so relieved – she loves home made sweets but hates baking.   This is a lovely gift Meg!”  

She beamed.   For a second it occurred to her that it was pretty pathetic how quickly she responded to praise from the big geek.  “Pride comes from knowing you’ve done your best, not from external validation.”  she chided herself.  She should have been uncomfortable seeking his approval and praise … but dammit, she just wasn’t.  His good opinion mattered … a lot.  She had to admit that he was her biggest cheerleader – sometimes embarrassingly so.   In fact, he was a blasted Mary-Sue about it. GAK! When had she turned into this eyelash fluttering, nice clothes wearing, not-swearing-so-much, swooning fool who looked to A MAN for approval of anything? Her sisters would be disappointed in her ... or endlessly take the piss out of her. Her Mom was looking down from heaven, laughing her arse off at Meg's fall from 'women should never subjugate themselves to men' glory. Naughty thoughts were running around in her head ... sometimes a little subjugation was a lot of fun. Hmmm, what was Richard talking about just now? That little tangent took her far from the matters at hand ...

He gave himself a big mental pat on the back.  Whatever she was thinking about was a far cry from where she was a few minutes ago. He was good … bloody good.   He helped her avert a nerves disaster and he was damn proud of it.  He was a Meg expert – a Megspert.   Tears?  No problem.   Anxiety?  Got it sussed.  Yeh, Baby!   Bring it on! 

The rest of the drive to Leicester was animated, to say the least.   She talked non stop and he didn't have a clue what she was on about most of the time. Richard considered the benefits of ‘Sullen Meg’ when she commandeered the radio and started singing along to some old Ska tunes.   Oh dear.   He must have built up immunity to her blasted singing because  while it still made him mildly nauseas, he no longer wanted to take an ice pick to his ears.   That was an improvement, right?!?!!    Listening to her immersed in her Two Tone world, he couldn’t help but smile, right down to his toes.    How did she do that?   With zero talent – maybe even negative talent – she made an otherwise completely ignorable radio station seem like the greatest musical boon of the last 100 years.   She made the mundane marvellous and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, imagine life without her.  He was thrilled to bring her home to Mum & Dad.  

*@*

John and Margaret Armitage were overjoyed to usher Meg and Richard into their home.   It was an unexpected delight to have Meg join them.   For quite some time Marg had wanted to get to know the woman who had charmed Chris and made such a brilliant difference in Richard’s life.    This was going to be a fantastic Christmas.   Richard had warned her that Meg could be a little ‘unusual’ when she was nervous and had advised her to take no notice of it.    Marg could barely suppress a smile when she noticed Meg’s blush as John put both of their suitcases in Richard’s room.   Richard and Meg were in their 40’s and had been a couple for many months yet Meg was still dreadfully shy about them sleeping together in his parents’ home.   Marg found it endearing, as did John when she told him about it that night.

Margaret spotted Meg’s increasing agitation when she was left idle.   It was win-win for Marg to ask for Meg’s help with all of the things which needed doing for holiday meals.    Marg chuckled to herself when she considered the difference in asking Meg to peel potatoes and in asking Richard or Chris.  The former was chatty and happy to be helpful.  The latter griped, groaned and made a mess of the veg and her kitchen.    Meg was clearly at home with all things foodie.   The anxiousness which was so apparent earlier had mostly disappeared when her hands were busied with food prep.    Even with Meg's relatively relaxed state of mind, Marg found herself, more than once, stifling a chuckle when Meg was speaking.  Richard was right – she could be a little ‘unusual’.  He was also right to adore her!   Whatever her eccentricities, it was clear to Marg that she had a great heart, adored her son and was adored by her son.  Meg was a keeper.

Meg asked if she could make the dessert for Christmas Eve dinner.  Marg was so visibly thankful that Meg gained a confidence she hadn’t anticipated.   Sure, Richard told her his Mum didn’t like to bake, but she was a little sceptical regarding the value of a bit of pudding.    She wondered no longer! Meg was 'in the zone' and insisted that Marg go enjoy her son’s and husband’s company while she pulled together a smattering of something sweet for dessert.  Marg happily obeyed.  It wasn’t often that she was freed from kitchen duty on Christmas Eve.  This was a treat indeed.  

Richard wandered into the kitchen to help Meg and was promptly shooed out .  “You didn’t come home to hang out in the kitchen with your wench – go enjoy your parents!”  He would have argued had he not seen the sublime smile on her lips.   She was in her element!    And he noticed that there were only a couple globs of unidentifiable muck on her shirt – this was working out even better than expected!

Meg made banana bread and double chocolate chip cookies.  A loaf and something chocolate – she was satisfied.   She worked with alacrity, humming and cleaning as she went.   As she racked the last cookies to cool, she saw Marg had come into the kitchen and had been watching her with obvious delight.  

“That’s quite the song.”  Marg chuckled.

Meg puzzled for a moment.  What had she been singing?   Her eyes bulged and her hand went over her mouth with what sounded like a slap.   NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!  Had she really sung Jet Boy, Jet Girl in front of Richard’s Mum?   That fucking “he gives me head” ear worm.    Oh where was a sink hole when you needed one?   Couldn’t she just die, right there, right then??

“I’ve been to Elton Motello concerts … Richard was just a toddler and I was not quite ready to be thoroughly respectable.  If it wouldn’t give John a stroke, I might join you in a verse or two.”  Marg winked at Meg and went back to the living room, humming the chorus.  Meg fell in love with Richard’s Mum, hook, line and sinker.  

Richard wasn’t quite sure what his Mum said to Meg but it was clearly magical.  All of Meg’s nerves and awkwardness had completely evaporated.  She thoroughly enjoyed herself and was a lively dinner companion.   Instead of being mortified when she said something slightly inappropriate, her eyes twinkled and she winked at Marg.  SHE WINKED AT HIS MOTHER!!!!  And he was certain he heard his Mum say some pretty risqué things to her under her breath.   At one point he looked to his Dad for help but he just gave him a mysterious smile and shrugged.   Not for the first time since he met Meg he found himself to be utterly discombobulated.    

It was the most interesting Christmas Eve he’d had in years.   He was pretty sure that it was the most enjoyable too but had a niggling suspicion that some of that secret language between his Mum and his girlfriend might be something he’d not be pleased with.  He was determined to get to the bottom of this new "Girl's Only" thing they had going on together. Helping Meg clean up the kitchen and prepare to start the Pumpkin Cheesecake, he felt more than a bit tentative when he said, “So, you and Mum …”

You’d think someone just asked Meg about her greatest passion in the world.  She spoke so effusively about  his Mum he was gobsmacked.   He thought Meg might like her, but this … this was a crush.  Meg was fan-girling his Mum!   He had to ask, “What happened to make you ga-ga over Mum?”

She started giggling.  She shook her head and made it clear that the mystery was in The Girl Vault and she’d never tell him.   But he should rest assured, he had the coolest Mum in the whole world and he better do everything in his power to always appreciate her.  “Okay …” he replied, quite dubious. Maybe she'd tell him more later ... but he doubted it. It seemed his Mum had replaced him as Meg's most favourite person in the world and loyalty to her would trump sharing secrets with him. Harumph.

They worked well together, as usual, preparing the cheesecake.  She wanted to get the crust and the first layer completed before bed.   Richard crushed the ginger snaps and pecans for the crust.  She prepared the cheese mixture and roasted extra pecans for later.    Popping the partially filled spring form pan into a bain marie, she looked at Richard and asked, “So what would you like to do for the next hour and a half whilst this bakes?  I brought a book so you can go to sleep if you don’t’ want to wait up with me.”

He looked at her incredulously and then gave her his best smoulder, “What would I like to do for an hour?  You need to ask? Come here wench!”  She walked slowly to him, never breaking eye contact and giving him the arched eyebrow naughty look he so adored.

Trying very hard, and failing miserably, to be quiet, they giggled their way upstairs to his room.   Marg and John smiled to each other as they heard the silly 'kids' laughing and bumping into walls and furniture on their way.  

*@*

Meg made wraps for their Christmas breakfast.   Tomato basil wraps (piled with bacon, scrambled eggs and shredded cheese were baked until the wraps were slightly crispy and the cheese nicely melted) filled their tummies and garnered many happy interjections.  They’d agreed to wait on presents until Chris, Beth & Alex arrived around lunch time. John felt it was a good choice that Chris was arriving after lunch because there were only two wraps left and he really didn’t want to share.   He wondered if Marg would remember how to make them, he hoped so. He was quite liking Richard's Meg and thought it a fine idea for her to visit often ... and maybe bring her recipes.  John and Richard cleaned up the kitchen while Meg and Marg enjoyed a nice cup of tea in the living room, admiring the Christmas tree. 

Meg returned to the kitchen when the lads had completed their chores.   The cheesecake needed to be finished and cooled as soon as possible.  In a perfect world, it would have chilled overnight but in this instance 8 hours would have to do.   She re-baked the cake with the pumpkin layer and topped it with a mixture of creme fresh, demerara sugar & rum and re-re-baked it.  Having completed its time in the oven, Meg created a decorative pattern with pecans, sighed contentedly and carefully placed it in the fridge to cool.   

She popped a second tray of spiced nuts into the oven alongside the strata she prepared for lunch and then turned to make the custard base for Alex’s ice cream.   Just as she was about to roast marshmallows over the stove, she heard a commotion at the door.   Chris, Beth and Alex had arrived.   She couldn’t wait to see them again! The happy welcomes, hugs and Alex's squeals warmed her heart, which was pretty warm and happy to begin with.

*@*

Opening presents was splendid.   Meg was relieved to see that Christmas wasn’t materialistic mayhem in the Armitage clan.   The things they exchanged were personal gifts given with love, humour and obvious thought.    Richard’s family appreciated the handmade cards with the mouth-watering promises Meg gave each of them.   Alex wasn’t quite sure what a ‘smore was, but was easily won over when he learned it involved ice cream with chocolate, toasted marshmallows and graham crackers.

Richard made Meg cry several times.  But these were happy tears and they seemed to be contagious because Marg also welled up when she watched her son and Meg.   Richard gave Meg several small presents – which had been intended to travel in her luggage to Canada.   She opened a usb stick and looked at him quizzically.   “There are 11 files … one for each day we were to be apart … they’re audio files of stuff for you.”  He blushed just a little – he thought his voice was crap but Meg liked it so he recorded a short story he wrote for her, some poetry (his and some Browning), a couple of her favourite songs, a little bit of smut just for fun, a couple of cello pieces (an original he wrote and Bach Suite 1) and the ramblings of a guy missing his girl.   She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him silly.  Tears of awe and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Richard?  Check.

She opened a card which had a photograph of a painting in it.   She looked to him for an explanation.   “You love Impressionism and spring flowers so I painted this for you …. But you couldn’t take a painting to Canada so this is a picture of it and the real thing is in the guest room of my house, just waiting for you.”   She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him right on the lips in front of everyone.  Awe and gratitude?  Check.   Chuffed Richard?  Check.

Another present … but this one didn’t need explanation.  He had found a first edition copy of Thomas Hardy’s   _Far From the Madding Crowd_.   She wept openly.   She had two reading passions – Canadian and Nineteenth Century English literature.   His gift was extravagant but it was something which she dearly loved.   She threw her arms around him and kissed him sweetly.  Tears of awe and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Richard?  Check.

Lastly, he gave her a rectangular box.   He was nervous as she unwrapped it.   She frowned, almost imperceptibly, when she saw it was a jewellery box.   She opened it and found a beautiful necklace which, if she wasn’t mistaken, was a perfect match to the sapphire bracelet he had given her when they were courting.   It was lovely and she knew as soon as she looked at him, that it was from his heart.  

“They told me that the bracelet was part of a set so I made it a mission to find the other pieces.   I know you’re not a big jewellery fan but the bracelet looks beautiful on you and you smile every time you wear it … so I thought maybe you’d forgive me.”  He held his breath waiting for her reaction.  She threw herself into his arms and told him, in no uncertain terms, that she adored it.  Tears of awe and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Richard?  Check.

Beth gave Chris a playful swat, “Now THAT’S how you do Christmas!  You’ve got some planning to do for next year, dear husband!”  Chris gave Richard a dirty look which screamed “thanks a lot, now see what you've done!”

Meg hadn’t anticipated that Richard would open her gifts in front of other people and she was a little wary, some might be NSFF (Not Suitable For Family).    She tried to catch his eye to let him know he should probably keep them close to the vest.    The first present was a business card case.  Inside were cards which gave him IOU’s for various privileges:  she would drop everything and fly to wherever he was; several naughty options; a few VERY naughty items; watch football without complaining; chores; a Meg singing free zone; a few ‘toss an ugly piece of clothing’ notes; unrestricted remote control access (limited time only); and a promise to accompany him to one, low key, industry event.   He looked at her with wide eyes and silently asked her if she meant that last one.  She smiled and nodded.  He was blown away. Smiles of awe and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Meg?  Check.

Her second gift to him felt like a framed print.  It was.   She had taken one of his photographs of the mountains near his chalet and had it blown up with text printed at the bottom:    _We are drawn to the French Alps every winter and it’s even considered quite normal, even sensible, to spend a week at high altitude wearing a fortune in expensive and uncomfortable clothing. We risk frostbite, cracked ribs and broken limbs and then scare ourselves witless, as we strap boards to our feet and hurtle downhill only to repeat it all again._ He laughed and told her that he had the perfect spot in his office for it.   Haute-Savoie would never be far away! He gave her a sloppy, happy kiss and whispered 'thank you' into her ear.

Her next gift was a small box.  In it he found a spoon, a voice recorder and a cigarette.  Underneath was a photo of what looked like one of her homemade ice creams in his freezer.   As he looked at her, he understood and laughed out loud.  She made her chocolate ice cream with pinot noir and chocolate ganaches.  He was to record the groans of pleasure (aka porno soundtrack) as he ate it and then have the joked-about-smoke.   He couldn't stop laughing then and gave her a big hug.   Perfect!  Smiles of silliness and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Meg?  Check.

Her fourth gift felt like books.  It was.  There were three books on Algonquin Park, wilderness survival and canoeing.   She was preparing him for the big trip next summer.   That was thoughtful, in a way. As he flipped through the books he saw she had made little notes in the margins – some technical, some funny, some downright smutty.   Suddenly, he was looking forward to that canoe trip very, very much.   He blushed and thought it best his family not look through those books.   Smiles of impending naughtiness and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Meg?  Check.

Her fifth gift was a Ballroom Dancing CD.   He thought it peculiar.  She motioned for him to open the case.  On a sticky note attached to the CD were the words “ask me to dance”.  He was totally baffled, she had little aptitude for dancing and usually begged off when he asked her.   He looked at her for clarification.   “I’ve been taking dancing lessons because you love to dance and … well … I was a menace.”   He threw his arms around her, laughing into her hair. Smiles of awe and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Meg?  Check.

She had two more gifts for him and he was feeling a little self-conscious.   Seven was a bit much, wasn’t it?    Oh well, that was Meg, never half measures.    The sixth gift was a bit awkward and felt like it might fall apart on him.   He unwrapped it to find two Lucite boxes precariously sitting on one another.  The top one was filled with her chocolate covered espresso beans.   OH YES!   The bottom was filled with truffles – Meg’s TRUFFLES.   Ohhhhhh let the drooling begin!!!!!     And he didn’t even have to do any DIY for these little gems.     Mmmmmm.    Smiles of glutinous greed and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Meg?  Check.

Her final gift to him was in a small box.   Within he found a jewellers box.   Surprised by this, given her general ambivalence towards jewellery, he opened it gingerly.   Inside were exquisite cuff links on which appeared very old royal crests.  He looked at her inquiringly.   “They are the crest of Richard the Third made from antique Welsh gold.” She said in answer to his unspoken question.

“But how?  Where?”  He stammered.

“You are always scrambling with your French cuffs.”  She lightly shrugged, a little embarrassed by everyone’s eyes on her.

“That’s true.  But these …”

“They were commissioned especially for you.   I wanted them to be made of old gold and to look old … and ... well ... knowing your interest in your namesake, it seemed apropos to include something of Richard III.”  She had never done anything like this before and was scared that she'd gotten carried away. She looked up quickly from under her lashes to see him gaping at her.  She was a little alarmed until he seized her and held her to him whispering a million thank-you's into her ear.  Whispers of awe and gratitude?  Check.  Chuffed Meg?  Check.   Tears of romantic admiration from Marg and Beth?  Check, check.

Marg & John and Chris & Beth exchanged knowing looks.  In their estimation, these two singletons would not be singletons much longer.   Chris was very quietly humming the Wedding March under his breath but only his Dad caught it – and he laughed out loud.

It was a wonderful Christmas filled with love, laughter and lots of great food … and starry eyed lovers mesmerized with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a laugh, check out Jet Boy, Jet Girl in the Appendix ... and you'll know why Meg was so embarrassed to be caught singing it ... and it is embarrassing to get caught singing that song ... how do I know you ask? Been caught too many times - you'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now. Apparently not ;-)


	29. Boxing Day Week

Meg and the Armitages had a great visit. Richard showed her all of his Leicester haunts and regaled her with stories of his awkward phase (apparently from ages 14 to 40). There was a massive argument over which videos to watch with Margaret enlisting Meg’s support and revelling in not being the lone woman in a family of men. After much fawning over very fluffy chick flicks, it was agreed that a Cary Grant marathon would be a sufficient compromise. How could anyone not adore Arsenic & Old Lace? After such movies, Meg and Marg would look at each other with dreaminess in their eyes.

“They just don’t make ‘em like that anymore.” Meg exhaled, staring at Cary Grant.

Richard pretended to be hurt “Hey. Movie star over here! A little consideration please!”

“My love, you are many things, but you will NEVER be Cary Grant.” Meg winked.

“Yeh, well Cary Grant wasn’t even Cary Grant.” He grumbled. “Where’s a fella’s army when he needs them?”

Meg tried to soothe his wounded ego, but couldn’t stop laughing, for which he was able to produce an award winning pout.

“That’s a new look, love. I can’t quite imagine the role where you could use it … but I sure hope there is one. It’s a winner!” She winked at him.

*@*

Meg taught them all how to play Spite & Malice and proceeded to get her butt handed to her by John who was decidedly a dark horse! She purchased a GO board and was overjoyed at Richard's natural affinity for it. Board games, cards and movies made for very enjoyable evenings. Richard was, however, increasingly wary of the whispering and secretive looks which continued to pass between Meg and his Mum. Those two were trouble … and it made him a bit edgy. He would have been scandalized to hear his Mum sing Meg’s vile songs. He hadn’t known they bonded over graphic punk rock, 1960’s heart throbs and hiding their wild-child selves under layers of conservative respectability. Would he believe Meg and his Mum were closet anarchists? Not in this lifetime!

*@*

Excited about their upcoming ski holiday, Richard tried to get Meg into the swing of things. She needed the whole kit, having never skied before. He chuckled at that - how could she not have skied? He didn't give much of a thought to her lack of enthusiasm - no worries, he had enough for both of them. While she wasn’t much of a shopper at the best of times, he found her increasingly obstinate avoidance a little much even for her. When he looked back later, he was certain this was where their troubles really started. He certainly didn’t spot it at the time though.

They decided that it might be best to equip her in France – the shops near the ski resorts were pricey but had a wide selection of quality gear. She seemed to brighten up a bit at that … not back to normal, but at least not quite so impatient and distracted. Relief at putting off anything to do with skiing flooded through her - it was like a stay of execution. Marg noticed that Meg was not herself and tried to draw her out.

“I’m slightly accident prone and maybe a little worried about skiing. But I’ll be fine. How could I not love skiing?” She asked, dread lurking in her eyes. Marg rightly guessed that her aversion to skiing was no petty whim. Meg was clearly in an agonizing turmoil.

“Just tell him Meg. Don’t bend yourself into pretzels for him – he wouldn’t want it and you’ll just end up miserable. Tell him!” Marg pleaded. She didn't know how her son could not see what Meg was feeling.

“I’ll give it an honest try first. If it's too awful, I’ll tell him then. Skiing is important to him and he’s incredibly excited to share it – I can’t spoil that without giving it a chance.” But she looked miserable ... and afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... what happens at the chalet doesn't stay at the chalet. Fluff gives way to angst.


	30. Ski?  Non.  Apres Ski?  Oui.

When they landed in Geneva, Meg was wistful. She would have loved to stay and explore that enchanting city. It was such a shame to pass through without spending time there. She was resigned to the scheduled destination and just hoped she’d emerge unscathed at the end of the week. Even in his excited state, Richard briefly noticed that she looked like she was headed to the gallows. He was certain that once she got on the slopes, her boundless enthusiasm would return and she’d be as hooked as he was.

They stopped for a late lunch in Annecy. It was yet another lovely city which Meg would dearly loved to have explored. They talked about the area and local places Richard had already visited. She was dejected when she learned how close they were to Lyon. Lyon was on her top 5 foodie places in the world. Being so close and yet so far left her despondent.

Richard wondered if perhaps she was ill. Little about the woman before him resembled his usual Meg. He made sure she spent the rest of the day in ease and was as attentive as he could possibly be. It was peculiar that the more nurturing he was, the lower her spirits seemed to sink.

He was disappointed that the chalet didn’t have a proper bath tub, it was only a little half bath. He wouldn’t be able to join her and she would have to sit up straighter than at home, but hopefully the warmth, bubbles and soaking would help her feel better. She half smiled when he ushered her into the bath and brought her a glass of wine.

While he was busy putting things away and figuring out what to do for their supper, she had uninterrupted time to think. She had told Margaret that she would give this skiing thing an honest try, and she truly believed that was the right thing to do. She was chagrined when she thought about her actual behaviour – she was definitely not going into this with an open mind and consequently she was ruining Richard’s day. Meg adjusted her attitude and looked for all the positives in this adventure.

When she emerged from the bath he thought she was glowing. It never ceased to amaze him how a little warm water could affect her so dramatically. He was all the happier for it and Meg was cheered by his exuberance. This clearly meant a lot to him. She had seen him enthusiastic before, but never to this level. He was contagious and all gloom was forgotten.

During supper it started snowing outside. He was ecstatic because of what it would mean on the hills … she was ecstatic because of what it would mean to the scenery. It was an incredibly romantic place and the gentle snowfall was the pièce de résistance. They dressed in warm clothes and went for a walk, holding hands and catching snowflakes on their tongues.

Upon their return to the chalet Richard started a roaring fire whilst Meg made a delicious hot chocolate with Valrhona cocoa powder, fresh cream, agave syrup and Chambord Liqueur. They snuggled by the fire and giggled at the clichéd picture they made. They agreed that there was something to be said for those romantic clichés. The rest of the night was languid and unerringly loving.

*@*

The next morning Richard didn’t so much wake up as rocket out of bed. She laughed and wondered if he had some kind of latent hyperactivity disorder. Either that or he was on crack. She smiled as she remembered the old saw “all boats rise on the same tide” because she was swept up on the tide of his elation.

They had a quick breakfast and made their way to the resort. Richard’s entire being was humming and she couldn’t stop grinning as she watched him. He was like a kid in a candy shop and it made her heart happy. It was a bit of a struggle getting her fitted out. He couldn’t settle and thought she needed to have gear for every possible eventuality. It took a swat to the head to get him to calm down – and a hug to soothe the swat.

He intended to take lessons with her, not wanting to miss a moment of her introduction to his second all time favourite activity. She laughed and gave him another swat and told him, in no uncertain terms, to get his arse up the mountain and leave the lessons and the bunny hills to her. With alternating hang-dog and jubilant expressions, he took off and was rarely seen for the rest of the day. He periodically checked in to see how she was doing and then bounded off for more runs.

For her part, she had never put as much concentration and effort into anything in her life. If she thought dancing lessons were a challenge, she was wrong - they were a piece of cake compared to this new perdition. Skiing was more difficult than she ever could have imagined. When parts of her body or equipment would move without her intention or permission, she thought she was going to kill or be killed. She felt like she wasn't looking up a mountain, but down into an abyss. Her lesson was scheduled for two hours, but the instructor, Marion, suggested they continue. YES. There was no way she could even contemplate the beginner hills yet. She was more hopeless with skis than she was with 5 inch heels. Meg wasn't sure what she would have done without Marion. The women had hit if off right from the start and their easy amity blossomed into a happy friendship over the day.

In the late afternoon, Richard found Meg and Marion laughing together in the resort’s chalet. They were talking a mile a minute in French and he watched while the two women were oblivious to the rest of the world.

Meg was full of surprises. He had no idea she spoke French … and he found he really liked it. He really, really liked it. Her body and gesticulations changed in French. Her voice was huskier and her facial expressions decidedly Gallic. He had to consciously slow his breathing because she was having a very particular effect on him.  He'd have to remember to ask her to speak in French when they were alone.

Marion noticed the man who was gawking at them. At first she just ignored him – men gawked, que sera sera. But as several minutes went by and his expression changed from gawking to intense smouldering she thought it time to alert Meg and take action. She nodded in the direction of the odd man and said, “Il y a un homme inquiétant lá-bas. Ne regarde pas!”

When someone says “don’t look”, you have to look. Of course Meg looked and she burst out laughing. “That’s no weirdo, that’s my boyfriend or should I say that weirdo is my boyfriend.” Marion laughed with her and the two of them babbled in French again, leaving Richard with the suspicion that they were enjoying themselves at his expense. The fact that they kept looking at him and laughing harder was the biggest clue.

Meg introduced them and invited Richard to join them for an aperitif. Richard marvelled that Marion wasn’t actually one of the Porter girls. The two women had the same ‘shorthand’, physical displays of affection and quirky mindset as that which Meg shared with her sisters. He was positively mirthy watching Meg have so much fun with Marion. He didn’t even mind their random lapses into French, leaving him out in the cold.

“Richard I’ve invited Marion and her boyfriend, Alain de Dale, over for dinner tomorrow night. I can’t wait to meet him!" Turning to Marion, she said " And with that my dear friend, à bientôt. Time to go reform my inquiétant man. See you tomorrow morning?”

“Avec plaisir, Meg, à demain!. Au revoir Richard. It is a pleasure meeting you.” And with a farewell kiss (on each cheek, naturellement) Marion left them to their own devices.

Meg was doing the cooking babble thing which he both loved and dreaded. He loved how aflame she became but he dreaded how long some of these incomprehensible babbles went on. On one occasion he timed her and she hadn’t stopped talking for 39 minutes. This particular episode seemed to have worry interspersed with exhilaration. He deduced that there was some difficulty regarding cooking in one of the greatest French cuisine regions of the world and not wanting to look naff. He shook his head, she was a cracking good cook and he’d book in for her food any time.

She decided on a distinctly regional Canadian menu. She wondered if she’d be able to find salt pork and real maple syrup, but she’d give it her best shot. Soupe aux Pois , Tourtière, Pommes Persillade, Érable Carottes Rôties Vitrage and Creton with Tire D’érable for dessert. Maybe she’d make macaroons too. She’d decide that later. She was tickled pink! Comfort foods and friends were always an excellent idea! She was pleased that this whole ski chalet life was much, much better than anticipated. What in the world had she been so worried about?

*@*

They got up early the next morning to head out to the slopes. Marion agreed to go with Meg on the green runs until she was feeling more confident. It was questionable whether or not Meg was ready to try even the easiest run. They tried two of the beginner slopes and it was abundantly clear that Meg was out of her depth. That didn’t stop them from laughing like hyenas, which is how Richard found them two hours later. Marion’s offer to take Meg grocery shopping was met with unanimous cheer. Marion knew the local markets well and Richard wouldn’t have to stop skiing. While he was certainly happy to continue skiing, he was feeling a bit neglectful of Meg – he’d not spent much time with her at the resort. Nonetheless, she was happy and that counted for more.

Meg and Marion had, no great surprise, a great time together doing the shopping. They eventually found all of the necessary ingredients and drove back to Richard’s chalet. Meg explained each dish and how it was prepared. Normally she didn’t make her guests work for their dinner but Marion was so keen to help, Meg couldn’t refuse. She sent Richard a text letting him know that she forgot to get wine for dinner and would need a hearty white, an easy drinking red and a good Port.

Richard was greeted at the chalet by Meg’s enthusiastic, if not atrocious, version of Happy Talk. Who was this Captain Sensible and why was Meg so obsessed with him? Scary questions he need not seek answers to – he should just find better ear plugs. When she saw him he gave her _That_ look. The one that said “c`mere wench” and was usually followed by a blatantly naughty eyebrow waggle.

“No time for nookie, big fella. There’s cookin’ to be done! But I can make time for a quick dance if you are desperate.”

He grabbed her by the waist, spinning her around the living room. Something in those lessons must have stuck because she remained standing upright, and on her own feet instead of his. He was impressed. Looking down into her eyes, he was reminded by how very far down there she was. After all this time how could he be surprised by how short she was? When he pulled her in close he risked breaking her nose in his sternum … not a pretty picture. He’d never enjoyed being head and shoulders above the crowd and chuckled at the irony that the love of his life was the shortest adult he’d ever met. He wrapped his arms around her just under her bum in order to lift her up so he could look directly into her eyes. She smiled and gently held his face in her hands. When she kissed him he felt weak … and almost dropped her. Laughing she wiggled out of his arms and went back to the kitchen to continue her culinary labours. With a sigh of exasperation he went for a shower. A long, cold shower.

*@*  
It was two tired, happy people who saw their guests to the door later that night, agreeing to meet for dinner again soon. The evening was thoroughly enjoyable and Richard chuckled when he thought about Marion and Alain together. Alain was the perfect straight man to Marion’s extroverted personality. Alain adored her and it was clear the feeling was mutual. Richard could relate – he and Meg were just as besotted with one another. Meg’s dinner was delicious, for the most part. He was quite sure he could live the rest of his life quite happily without ever eating Pea Soup again. The Tourtière was amazing and he could see how the Quebecois breakfast of Baked Beans on Toast and Creton was so popular. It had just made the list of his favourite breakies too. They finished cleaning up the dishes and took their little glasses of Taylor Fladgate 70 Year Old Tawny Port to the couch in front of the fireplace. This was one of those evenings Meg liked to label “fat and happy”. He couldn’t agree more. Maybe when they were finished their Port they could pick up that dance where they left off earlier …

*@*  
Richard was quite bouncy the next morning, eager for them to be on their way to the hills. He was ecstatic to finally be able to ski with Meg. He chattered away all during breakfast and was so absorbed he didn’t notice she was smiling but not talking. On the way to the resort he kept taking her hand and kissing it – so happy to be sharing this with her. She looked at him with all of the love in her heart … but was still quiet. As he grabbed their gear and started making his way to the lift area for the blue pistes, he noticed she was quite a bit behind him.

“I … I don’t think I’m ready for those runs yet Richard.” She stammered. "Maybe the green runs would be -"

“No worries, love. I was on runs like this on my first day – and I hadn’t the benefit of Marion’s instruction. You’ll be great! And I’ll be there to help you.” He encouraged.

“But … Marion said … it looks too hard for me.” She did not want to spoil his fun but was becoming increasingly alarmed.

“Just stick with me, love. This will be amazing!”

Getting onto the lift, Meg tried to hide the tears threatening to overflow her eyes. She was ashamed of herself – she was ruining this for him. “Face your fears, old girl. Get on with it.” She scolded herself.

At the top of the run, she looked up at him and borrowed his confidence and courage. This was going to be wonderful, exhilarating, life changing. This was going to be something they could joyously share for the rest of their lives. Never had she been so wrong.

Once she pushed off, there was nothing wonderful, enjoyable or exhilarating until she touched the wall of the resort’s chalet. The abject terror made her reel and stayed with her long enough and strong enough to make her vomit. The only saving grace was that Richard didn’t see that bit. He found her as she was exiting the building and gave her the biggest of smiles.

“You’re going to get the hang of it Megs. Let’s go again.”

“I think I need the lessons hill … that was too much for –“

“Nonsense! You’re going to be great. Meg you can do anything you want to do!”

“No Richard it’s not my –“

“Oh come on Meg – I really want to do this with you.” He looked at her with such profound longing that she allowed herself to be coerced up the hill again. Margaret’s words about not twisting herself into pretzels for him were swirling around in her head, but she didn’t listen to them any better than Richard was listening to her.

As sure as night follows day, Meg fell. Hard. Bad. She broke her left wrist, tore the ACL in her right knee, had internal bruising and cracked a rib. She asked the doctors to keep her in the hospital overnight even though it wasn’t absolutely necessary for someone with her injuries. When Richard came into her room, she pretended to be asleep and didn’t stir until she was certain he was gone. She hadn't considered that actors were thoroughly trained in fake sleeping. He knew she didn't have to stay in the hospital and he knew she wasn't sleeping. He didn't know why she was shoving him away with such pathetic lies. She was not shy about spouting off when she was upset so this silent treatment seemed petulant. She was being deceiptful and he was not amused. Fine. She wanted him gone? He would oblige.

When Richard arrived at the hospital the next day he found her laughing and crying with Marion. She briefly acknowledged his arrival with a slight grimace and returned her attention to her friend. Marion glanced at Richard with an inscrutable look and turned back to Meg. They were rudely putting Richard in the role of intruder and he began to feel quite churlish.

“Ready to go?” He asked, trying very hard not to sound as gruff as he felt.

Meg and Marion exchanged looks which set Richard’s teeth on edge. The women were rebuking him for he knew not what. When they began speaking rapidly in French, he felt his temper rise. He had been worried sick, shut out, lied to and reproached for some imaginary crime. The thunder in his heart was roiling. Just when he was about to speak, a nurse came in and began talking to Meg in French. When Meg noticed Richard’s confusion she quietly explained, “she’s going to take me to the orthopedist for a once over before I am discharged.”

“May I come with you?” He asked.

“No need. Marion will go with and then bring me back to the chalet. You shouldn’t waste this beautiful day. Why don’t you go to the mountain and I’ll see you back at home when you’re done?” She suggested, quietly.

She was dismissing him? Seriously? Why was she so eager to be rid of him? While he was trying to process all of this the nurse came back with a wheelchair and took Meg away. Marion turned to him and started speaking angrily in her mother tongue. When she remembered that he had no idea what she was saying she switched to English.

“Why you force her to that hill? She told to you she was only on the baby hill, no? Mon Dieu, what were you thinking? You bullied her! You are happier now? Elle était terrifiée!” And with that she went on another tirade in French as she ran out of the room after Meg.

He was stupefied. They thought he bullied her? What the fuck? All he did was share something amazing with her – try to give her another amazing gift. He had to get out of there – he had to think. He stormed out feeling confused and angry.

*@*

He got back to the chalet after supper. He’d driven around for hours and sat in a pub trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong. He was a brooder and he hated confrontation but this was too important to bury. He was going to get this sorted. When he saw Marion he wanted to get things back on track with her too. His opportunity for the latter was right in front of him.

“Marion, you are a wonderful friend. You’ve been so amazing to Meg.” He said, sincerely.

She was caught off guard having been prepared to let him know exactly what she thought of his bonehead move. Instead, she graciously said, “Meg is easy to love is she not? Ce n’est pas difficile. I go now, yes?”

Meg smiled up at her and thanked her in English, French and some other language Richard didn’t understand. The women kissed and hugged goodbye. Richard politely held the door for her and she whispered to him, “You are a good man. Faire mieux.”

Richard walked over to the couch where Meg was reclining and asked if he could sit with her. She gave him a weak little smile and said “of course.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

She started to explain her fall and he interrupted. “No love, what happened to bring us here, to this horrible point?”

Tears filled her eyes and she looked down. “I don’t want to ski. I’ve never wanted to ski.”

He was baffled. “But … you … we’ve been having so much fun … I don’t understand.”

“Richard I don’t know how I twisted everything up so badly but obviously I have. I thought you understood all of the stories about my family skiing which happily didn’t include me.  Every time you asked me to come here I politely declined.  You know my problem with things requiring coordination. I can’t wear high heels, I trip over rugs on a flat floor … I get fretful when I have to use something that moves independent of me. Skiing is my worst nightmare come true. I thought you --”

“Why in the world would you even go up a hill? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you think me some kind of selfish monster who lives to terrorize you for his own enjoyment? Meg I would have never --”

“NO. You love skiing. It lights you up. Up until this holiday I was happy staying out of it and not imposing on your times here with your friends. I don’t want to spoil this for you. When I couldn't avoid coming here, I was determined to give it my best effort and to overcome the fear which was eating me alive. Your Mum told me that I should tell you – “

“Wait - what? You talked to my Mum about this? You fucking talked to my mother but you didn’t talk to ME?” He was incensed. "My Mum, Meg, my Mum!!! And Marion. Who else knew you didn't want to come skiing with me?" He demanded.

She looked down, guiltily. She couldn’t answer.

“Oh let me guess … Fanny and your sisters … anyone else?”

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Your Dad too?  Of course."

She nodded her head and the tears fell from her eyes.

“So let me get this straight – you tell six people, SIX people, that you don’t want to ski, that you are petrified of skiing, but you don’t tell the one person to whom it matters most? And when it all gets bollocksed, you stay in the hospital under false pretences, you pretend to be asleep presumably to avoid me and when I come to collect you, you sick your friend on me. Nice work!” The thunder in his heart was reaching a crescendo.

But his anger missed its target. If he thought she would be chastised he was sorely mistaken. Building up her own head of steam, she angrily snorted when she decided that his brain and his mouth were no longer on speaking terms.

“How dare you?! I have done everything except take out a fucking billboard to say I didn’t want to ski. If you didn’t have your head so far up your arse you would have noticed it on, oh I don’t know, one of the 5,000 times I politely tried to stop this debacle. When it became evident that you would not relent, I TRIED to do this FOR you. I took lessons for two days! I went on that fucking run twice, for YOU. I threw up after the first time, by the way. I tried to tell you and you kept interrupting me with your egocentric treatise on the joys of skiing and how it was just so fucking perfect that we’d ski together forever. I was more terrified of going down that hill than anything I’ve ever done before in my entire life. I did it for YOU. I wanted to make it work FOR YOU. I have tried to talk to you about this so many times and you wouldn’t hear me so I did something I shouldn’t have and I sought advice - from my closest girlfriends and my Dad. Your Mum guessed it by the way, I didn’t go to her. SHE noticed I was freaked out about skiing. Your Mum, who just met me, saw how petrified I was. Why didn’t YOU see it? Marion knew it within five minutes of my first lesson! Why didn't YOU know? Why did you push so hard? Are you trying to make me into something I’m not?”

“Oh, so here’s Meg-the-Martyr. That’s a new one. It doesn’t suit. Don’t you dare try to pin this on me. You could have said NO at any time. You could have told me you were scared. You didn’t! This passive-aggressive thing you're doing is shite. You have set me up to be the villain in this tale and I won’t have it. You have betrayed me - I can’t even look at you right now. I’m going to a hotel.” He stormed out.

“Richard - don’t leave. I can’t –“ She shouted to an empty room as the door rocked on its hinges, slamming shut behind him. “I can’t be left alone. I can’t walk.” The tears returned and she didn’t think they’d ever stop. She was in physical pain, obviously, and she was also frantic. She was scared about making it through the night alone. He had left her when she needed him most.

She cried herself into a fitful sleep, waking when the need to use the commode overwhelmed her. Marion had helped her earlier but she couldn’t figure out how to do it on her own. She couldn’t walk, she couldn’t use the crutches … how was she going get to the bathroom? She reached into her purse for her mobile phone only to find the battery dead ... again.  She lowered herself to the floor with a thud and tremendous pain shot through her body. She did an excruciating modified belly crawl. Every rib, every bruise, screamed in agony -- yet they were nothing compared to the pain in her heart. It took an age but she finally made her way to the bathroom. She used all of her grit and the last of her strength to raise herself onto the commode. She wondered if it was worth it, surely peeing her pants would have been less traumatic than this wretched excursion. Her pain meds were sitting nicely on the coffee table in the living room but they might as well have been on Mars for their accessibility.  And now she was stuck in the bathroom with pain wracking her entire body – there was no way she could make it back to the living room or to the bedroom.  Meg pulled down the towels within her reach and used them as blankets on the bathroom floor. She had never experienced such physical and emotional misery. Exhaustion and pain overwhelmed her. She wouldn't have thought it possible but she fell asleep on that cold floor.

*@*

Richard was worn out and irresolute. Nothing was going to be accomplished with him in a hotel and Meg in the chalet. As unpleasant as it would undoubtedly be, he’d have to go back sooner rather than later. She’d probably be done with him – she made it crystal clear what she thought about him. And truth be told, he didn’t know if he could come back from her betrayal. He was still mulling it over when he entered the chalet. He noticed the bedroom door was closed and felt a fleeting relief. He’d use the bathroom and go to the guest room, delaying dealing with her as long as possible.

He was stunned and shaken when he walked through the bathroom door to find her unconscious on the floor, covered in towels. She had a ruined knee, cracked ribs and a broken wrist – how the hell did she make it into this room on her own? The full weight of what he’d done by walking out crashed down onto him with full force.  He fell to the floor sobbing, trying to pull her into his arms without hurting her.

She awoke as he lifted her to his chest, looking at him through eyes glazed with pain. “Richard, please take me home.”


	31. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ... but with the tiniest sliver of hope ... maybe.

It was a dreadful journey back to London. Every bump jarred Meg’s injuries, sending shards of pain shooting through her body. By the time Richard carried her upstairs to her flat, she was nearly catatonic. He tried to make her comfortable on the sofa, bringing her soup, toast and her favourite tisane. She ate very little and didn’t speak at all.

He put her to bed, gingerly changing her into one of her old flannel nighties. He got into bed beside her but was worried about hurting her so didn’t spoon – which made him even sadder. They’d spooned long before they became lovers. It was their ‘thing’.

He thought back to that first night, their first spooning. They’d stayed up debating one thing or another – as they did. It was late and he’d had too much wine. She told him to stay.

He looked at her and said “Right, where do you want me to sleep then?”

Without hesitation she laughed, “Where I can keep an eye on you to make sure that you don’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

At that time he still considered her the opposite of a potential partner (whatever that was) so sleeping with her would be no different than crashing with one of his mates. It wasn’t long before they were both soundly sleeping and had moved into their spoony positions, not knowing it until they awoke the next day. It was so natural and innocent, it just seemed as normal as breathing. Neither thought anything of it and it became their standard operating procedure when one was too knackered to go home. It didn't occur to either one of them at the time that they would not spoon with their mates as they did with each other.

Richard thought about how easy they had been together, right from the beginning. And now she wouldn’t even meet his eyes. They were centimetres apart but it felt like continents. Every fibre of his being ached to hold her in his arms, to comfort her, to feel her warmth again. He wondered if he’d lost her forever. With the horrible things he’d said and done, he wondered if he might deserve to lose her.

*@*

He was awake long before Meg. She hadn’t been able to get comfortable during the night but eventually collapsed from exhaustion. He kept himself busy while he waited for her to wake. He’d ordered groceries to be delivered, checked his email & voicemail, called his agent, did a load of laundry, arranged to have an agency send private duty nurses over to be interviewed, ran down to the coffee shop to pick up some coffee and pastries … he was just a fucking marvel of efficiency he thought wryly.

Life interferred with his plans to care for her. Shortly he had cast meetings, script readings, costume fittings and assorted other pre-production responsibilities. He was due to leave for New York in three weeks for a four month shoot. Timing couldn’t be worse. With Meg hurt and the shambolic state of their relationship, he couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do less than leave the country for a third of the year.

He still felt disbelief that a week previous they had been sure of their future together and insanely happy. If only he’d …. No, he wouldn’t do that ‘if only ...’ torture. For certainly that was where madness lay.

While he waited, he needed something to do or he would probably go mad. He looked at her bookshelves and remembered her enthusiastic recommendation of a Canadian book … what was it called? He scanned her bookshelves and found it – Roger Sudden by Thomas Raddall. Yes, that was the one. He took the book and his mug of coffee to the couch where he began to read. He was so engrossed in the book that he didn’t hear her calling him an hour later. She tried to shout but it came out as a croak, fortunately it was loud enough for him to hear and he went running to her side.

She looked up at him with a slew of emotions flitting across her face: pain, embarrassment, sadness, worry, and several others that he couldn’t place. Gone was her humour, tenderness, generosity … gone was that unmistakable look of love she had for only him. “I … it’s just that … need help … must pee ... can’t walk … so humiliating … I’m sor-sorry …” She said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her.

He thought her withdrawn manner was the scariest of any he’d ever encountered. He was able to cope with her tears, swearing, hysteria, anxiety … he was completely thrown by this muted Meg. It was terrifying to watch her pull away from him bit by bit. He'd do anything to bring her back to him.

“Of course, I’ll help you with everything Meg – you don’t need to be sorry about anything. I’m here, love. I’m here.” He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, tenderly setting her on the commode.

Her head was down and he would have missed her silent tears had he not felt them fall on his shirt while returning her to her bed. He was muddled and not sure what to do next. Food, yeh. Food always mattered to Meg. “Would you like something for breakfast?”

“Please. Something light. Nothing stays down.” She said, not lifting her head or meeting his worried gaze.

“Of course, love.” He said as he moved to the kitchen, returning shortly with porridge and a tisane.

She looked up at him for a fraction of a second and gave a haunted little grimace of thanks.

They continued in this way for several days with him tending, her withdrawing – not just from him but from the world. She wouldn’t take phone calls or emails. She didn’t care about the nurses. She didn’t engage with Fanny. She didn’t engage, period. He would help her to the commode, fetch her medicines, tea and toast and she would stay locked behind the impenetrable walls she'd forged.

He was mortified at the thought of leaving. How in the world could he reconnect with her while they were an ocean apart if he couldn’t do it right next to her? Every effort he made went unnoticed and he felt desperate. He began using all of his spare time writing letters to her. She loved the written word – maybe he could reach her that way. If nothing else, she would have something of him when he left for New York.

Three days before his departure, she startled him. He was helping her to the sofa when her grip tightened on his shoulder. At first he thought she was slipping and he held on tighter to protect her from falling. When she didn’t loosen her fingers, he looked at her searchingly. She was barely holding back tears but she held his eyes. She buried her head into his neck and sighed. This was the first real, personal contact she’d had with him in almost three weeks and he was so shocked, he didn’t know what to make of it.

He didn’t say anything. He just held her and stroked her hair. And she held on. She didn’t let go. She didn’t fall away. She held on. And he held on.

“Please don’t give up on me Richard … please don’t give up ... please” she whispered pleadingly.

“Never, my love. I will never give up.” He tried so hard to sound confident and strong, but tears choked his voice. She knew and gently touched his face.

*@*

The next three days went by in a surreal blurr. He couldn’t let go of her. Every possible moment he held her or touched her in some way. He loved that her new favourite spot was curled up on his lap and it filled him with hope. He never thought he’d known anything so precious as her hands resting lightly on his chest and her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She still wasn’t talking, but her need to touch was resurfacing.

Richard was shocked and worried about the weight she’d lost – a whole stone he’d have guessed. Curled up on his lap like this, he was sad to see how fragile she had become. What used to be supple had become bony. She looked gaunt and haggard where she used to be curvy and healthy. He didn’t like it – not one little bit. He wanted many things back, not the least of which was her softness and strength. He shook his head at the … irony? … hypocrisy? He put a significant amount of effort into staying 'Hollywood Fit' and yet he shuddered at the thought of Meg being 'Hollywood Thin'. Not so long ago she had tried to send him away because she felt she was ‘frumpy, lumpy and squishy’ yet it was then that he found her to be irresistibly, deliciously voluptuous – and he found her new shape distinctly uninviting. He shuddered to think this was the weight she’d aspired to.

*@*

He was a flurry of activity. Leaving London had never been so complicated, nor so dreaded.

He’d arranged for his Mum to stay with her for a fortnight. Then there was a rotating schedule of Fanny, her sisters and his mates. He was a little wary of Graham who was openly hostile towards him. In Graham’s estimation, Richard had no business leaving while she was reliant on others for her daily needs. He made no bones about his opinion that Richard was ultimately responsible for Meg’s injuries – he never should have pressured her into skiing, any fool could see the whole idea scared her stiff. Richard couldn’t disagree, which was probably why Graham hadn’t kicked his arse nine ways from Sunday. Meg had acquired a rather formidable big brother in Graham and Richard was careful not to further raise his ire.

He had small, motorized scooters delivered to her flat and her office. He had physiotherapists and nurses on a strict schedule. He had remote controlled apparatus installed onto everything her flat could accommodate – window blinds, lights, climate control, stereo, entry & security system, web tv, cctv, emergency call buttons, you name it – she was wired … or wireless as the case may be. At one point he saw a look of bemusement in her eyes and it inspired him to go to extraordinary lengths to see that look again. He had to admit, he might have gotten carried away.

The night before he left he was jittery, to say the least. As he had done for the last three weeks, he got Meg settled for sleep, climbing in beside her on the far side of the bed. He was painfully aware that he would not see her for at least a couple of months and felt the visceral dread of it throbbing through him. He certainly didn’t anticipate the surprise she gave him that night. He thought her to be restless and uncomfortable because she struggled about and bumped into him. She made several frustrated noises and finally said, “What does a gal have to do to have a good spoon around here? I can’t choreograph this on my own you know.” With an incredulous cry, he enveloped her fragile body in his and held on for dear life. This was the most she’d spoken since that horrible morning he found her broken on the chalet floor. His Meg was coming back to him ... just as he was leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time ... texts, emails, phone calls between New York and London


	32. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Richard's point of view.
> 
> Oh, that light at the end of the tunnel ... are you sure it's not an oncoming train?

He was, once again, very happy that he’d bought the Greenwich Village apartment in New York. The thought of living in a renta-home for four months was just untenable. The place was airy, bright, comfortable and a warm port in the storm. He smiled to himself knowing that Meg would love it. It was just quirky enough to capture her imagination. She had always loved New York and he could see them happily enjoying it together from the ease and comfort of his apartment.

As he unpacked his script and notes, he couldn’t deny the flimsy amount of work product. He was teetering on being overwhelmed by the fear of failure. He’d never been so woefully unprepared for a role in his life. He’d spent the last few weeks in turmoil, all but ignoring his upcoming role in Hugh Collinson’s next big blockbuster, _Walking Back._

He considered all manner of scenarios in which he could get Collinson to delay the shoot, knowing full well that he’d never stoop to anything so deceitful and unprofessional. He was chuckling over an imaginary kidnapping when the doorman buzzed.

“Mr. Armitage, I have a delivery here for you. Would you like me to have it sent up?”

“Yes, please do. Thank you, Boucher.” Richard was more than a little curious, he hadn’t ordered anything and couldn’t think what the delivery was for.

He signed for the package from Varsano’s and walked into his kitchen. The return address was a sweets shop not far down the road. Was he receiving chocolates? Why? He opened the parcel to find a note which said: “Consider this industrial espionage. M” The note was attached to a box of incredible hand dipped chocolates and truffles.

Meg sent him chocolates? Meg was moving around? Meg was using the internet? Meg was thinking about him? MEG SENT HIM CHOCCIES! He couldn’t have been happier if he’d been given the Hope diamond, the International Space Station and Buck House all at once. He grabbed his mobile phone and texted her “Mission accepted. Report to follow.”

He felt invincible. Flailing around his apartment doing the happy dance, he marvelled at how a silly chocolate could make him feel so pumped. And a thought struck him, this was the key to this new character. Nicholas Higgins felt invincible; because he felt it, he acted it; because he acted it, he got things done … but his invincibility was all an illusion – it was based on an innocent interaction – and all illusions shattered at some point. YES!!!!! He was on fire – he knew exactly where to go with his character!

Stuffing a chocolate in his mouth, he ran over to his computer and started typing like mad. In two hours he had written more of Higgins’ bio than he had done in the previous four months combined. He fist pumped the air, felt like a Breakfast Club dork and then did it again for good measure. He had a bath, poured a generous glass of Pinot Noir and settled in bed to read the script again.

*@*

The next few weeks were a roller coaster. Between work and Meg, he didn’t know which end was up.

Meg was sporadic at keeping in touch. Sometimes a couple of days would go by without any contact at all and then he’d get a letter, a phone call and several texts all in the same day. His Mum said she was rallying and was able to get around well enough with the use of a cane. Evidently Meg had threatened most of his mates to stop hovering over her or she’d brain them with said cane. His Mum's descriptions always made him chuckle. After her allotted fortnight, Margaret moved into Richard’s house in order to stay close by, just in case. This was turning into a blessing for Marg as she loved spending time with Meg and relished being some small help to her. Richard felt he was blessed to have the two most important women in his world have such a strong bond ... so strong that he cheerfully wondered if he might be a tad superflous.

Work was … peculiar. Every project had its own flavour and individuality but this one was different in some way – a difference that made him a little tetchy. His ‘introversion’ did not go unnoticed. Introvert was a nicer descriptor – many just thought him unbearably aloof. The entire cast & crew commented on it at one point or another and most felt awkward or uncomfortable around him. Collinson took him aside and asked him to play not just his role, which he was doing brilliantly, but to play _The Leading Man_ for the benefit of the rest of the cast. Richard cringed. He knew where his responsibility lay and he had let everyone down. It was (usually) unspoken but the lead actor(s) were to be just that: leaders to the rest of the cast. They were to be host, mentor, encourager, motivator, etc. in little ways which were subtly different than the director or producer. Richard felt he’d been unprofessional and he was deeply disappointed in himself. He’d make every effort to turn this around!

He desperately wanted to talk to Meg about it. While he had lots of mates who would understand all of the nuances of what he’d done – he didn’t want their empathy or criticism. Meg would cut to the chase, throw cold water on any lingering self-pity and push him to find concrete ways to ensure he’d put it right. She didn’t suffer fools gladly and had no time for bodgey, shambolic work. And then, if he was lucky, she’d make him laugh his arse off. Damn, he missed her so much.

Throwing caution to the wind, he called her. It was late in London thus it was lucky she was still awake. She sounded tired but relatively pleased to hear from him. True to form, she gave him a good dressing down, cajoled him into creating an ‘action plan’ and then proceeded to describe the outrageous antics of Fanny and Wilson on their Mexican holiday. He was delighted to be on the receiving end of at least three dozen expletives – always a good sign.

Most people would have thought Meg was right as rain, but he wasn’t most people. He could feel and hear a reticence in her, some secret part she was keeping hidden from him. He’d promised her he’d never give up on her, and he wouldn’t.  He'd put his mind to figuring out what he could do from New York.

A couple of weeks later, Richard had a brainstorm. Toronto and New York weren’t all that far apart. He wondered if Meg would fly over. He thought about her 'fly to anywhere in the world'  Christmas gift but didn't feel they were at the point where he could call in IOUS's. He didn't want to coerce or corner her in any way. He thought it more reasonable for her if she could try on a visit with him, and if she wasn’t comfortable, she could easily skip off to Toronto. She should go to Toronto anyway, but it might be reassuring to have a ‘safety net’ for a NY trip. He was disheartened by her ambivalence towards the idea. When he suggested that maybe she skip NY and spend some time in Toronto and he might meet her there for a weekend, she brushed it off. Toronto could come to London she had told him offhandedly.

Thwarted, he threw himself into his work. He was pleasantly surprised when an unforeseen opportunity arose. Union contract problems were going to shut down the shoot for a week or maybe even two. If he promised to return to New York on a moment’s notice, he could go to London for at least a few days. He was jubilant.

*@*

He arrived at Heathrow at supper. By the time he got home, showered, changed and walked over to Meg’s flat, it was nearly 8:00. Still early, he smiled. He let himself into the foyer of her building and knocked on her flat door. Even though he knew the entry code, he didn’t want to presume to use it. No answer. Maybe she was working downstairs. He tried her office, and again, no answer.

Shit. This wasn’t going as he’d hoped at all. Well, nothing could be done right then. He was hungry and decided on a quick dinner at the café. He smiled, it was _their_ café. Maybe she’d be home once he’d finished his meal. He should see if he could pick up some flowers on his way back to hers – probably should have thought of that earlier anyway.

Walking along the road to the café, he felt lighter and more optimistic than he had in months. He crossed the street and was knocked for six by the sight in the café window. Meg was there, holding hands with a very handsome man, staring into his eyes, laughing, touching his face, wiping something off his mouth, kissing his hand.

Nothing in the world made sense. She said she loved HIM. She asked HIM not to give up on her. HE was the love of her life … not some git adoring her in a restaurant. The sot looked sophisticated, erudite, confident … and in love with his Meg. He crossed back to the other side of the street and watched them. There was no question that those two loved each other – it was written on their faces and in their little touches. It was hellish torture to watch, but he couldn’t look away. Maybe if he stayed long enough, he’d find it was all a charade or a bad dream.

Meg and her new man left the café and walked hand in hand back to her flat. He noticed her cast was gone and her limp was hardly visible. They stopped in her doorway and put their arms around each other in a deep embrace. He thought he died when the fucking bastard kissed her and she laughingly wiped her lipstick off his cheek. He heard that laugh – it used to be for him. He stared as they went upstairs and lights in her flat went on. Sometimes he could see their shadows on the window blinds … window blinds that he’d had automated for her. When he saw them dancing, he knew he could take no more. Whatever mascochistic bent he’d had was gone.

He walked aimlessly for hours and, not telling his Mum that he was leaving, he flew back to New York the next day.


	33. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Meg's point of view ...

Meg was FINALLY getting back to rights. It had been a long, painful couple of months but she was mending well. Occasionally she felt the desolation which engulfed her in France threaten to overwhelm her again. The pain, both physical and emotional, had been so strong, she didn’t think she’d make it – maybe even wished she wouldn’t. She'd read that they put burn victims into an induced coma because their bodies couldn't stand the trauma of the pain. Her heart had a brush with that level of pain and she ruefully wished she could have enjoyed the relative peace of a coma. What a relief to be leaving that depressive agony behind her.

Margaret had been right of course. It was foolish to bend herself into pretzels for Richard. If she’d just been honest with him in the first place, none of this would ever have happened. Sure, he would have been disappointed and maybe even would have tried to change her mind. But he loved her and, given the chance, would have respected her point of view. He knew she didn’t care for football but thoroughly enjoyed the way she skirted around the edges of it with his mates, he never made her feel bad for not actually watching a match with him. Surely he’d have been just as happy to have her baking up a storm in the Haute-Savoie even if she had no intention of swishing down the pistes.

He was right. She lied to him. She manipulated him. She talked about him behind his back with HIS MOTHER. She betrayed him. She didn`t understand why he continued to have anything to do with her.  It was pretty awful of him to leave her alone that first night out of the hospital, but he didn’t plan it or intend to put her at risk – he was so hurt and angry he wasn’t thinking - he wanted room to think, not to be deliberately, dangerously negligent. He was the best person she knew – he’d never intentionally cause harm to anyone.

His reaction when he found her on the bathroom floor was the real Richard – the one she knew and loved. He was destroyed when he realized the jeopardy he had left her in. It didn't matter what she might have done, he couldn't reconcile what he'd done to her. She witnessed first hand what a cruel task master guilt was to him. Whatever his feelings for her had become, he spent weeks trying to make amends. He was supremely gentle and faithful in caring for her. Richard was a good, decent person and his abandonment was against his character.

Even in the worst of her pain, she saw and felt his withdrawal from her – he wouldn’t hold her, kiss her, spoon with her. There were no terms of endearment, no loving looks. He was grim and … well … stalwart was the best way to describe him. He kept his distance and she was certain that as soon as she was able to get about on her own, he would leave her forever. The way he said ‘betrayal’ left little room for doubt …

When she was physically capable of speaking coherently again, she didn’t have the emotional strength. Fear and regret consumed her. Knowing how he detested her lies and how he seemed to be repulsed by touching her, she couldn’t talk for worry that he would say the words which would end them. She couldn’t look him in the eye – she couldn’t risk seeing his contempt or shame. She felt even lower for taking advantage of his guilt in order to keep him near her for just a couple of weeks longer.

He had done a spectacular job of ensuring he’d never have to come back to her. She had never seen so many gadgets geared towards independent living. She'd never seen a tighter caregiver schedule. He set everything up perfectly. He had made himself impeccably redundant.

She’d been alone before, she’d be able to do it again. She simply had to accept her life for what it was and what it wasn’t. No more thoughts of soul-mates or making love or spooning or … no more fantasies of Twu Wuv. She had a great life before she met him and she’d have a great life after. She was a little older and a lot wiser. It may take hard work but she would get it all sorted and be happy again.

Who the fuck was she kidding?

Three days before he was due to leave she swallowed her pride and begged of him the thing which terrified her most “…but please don’t give up on me Richard … please don’t give up ... please.” And he didn’t.

She had fully expected him to politely, but firmly, let her know there was no future for them. When he told her he’d never give up on her, she wondered if she was dreaming or had skipped to an alternate universe. She couldn’t believe it. When she could get up the courage to look at him, she saw that he meant what he said – he did still care, still loved her in some strange, probably permanently altered way.

She had to put paid to her doubts and fears. She had to let go of the strangled feelings. The night before he left for New York, she decided to jump into the deep end of the pool, so to speak. She asked him to spoon with her – and his response was better than she dared hope. He left no room for misinterpretation when he drew her to him and didn’t let go. When he told her how much he loved her all of the walls she'd been hiding behind crumbled.

Her Richard came back to her … just as he was leaving for New York. Shit.

*@*

She was overwhelmed by the support of family and friends. Richard had done an exemplary job of ensuring she’d be safe, entertained, well fed and nursed back to full health. Visits, meals, therapy, taxiing her around, taking her for walks, cheering her up, telling her off … all of it. It was amazing. She had no idea how she’d ever be able to express her profound love and gratitude to all of them.

Graham and Margaret stood out amongst all of her friends and family. Graham for all of his gruff exterior was a sappy, softy, mushy, sentimental puppy dog. He became her self-appointed big brother and she couldn’t be more pleased. Not that she couldn’t fight her own battles, but knowing he was in her corner was quite the confidence booster. She was pretty sure that if she gave the signal, he’d whoop Richard’s arse for her … or anyone else’s who might need it. Just thinking of the ridiculous lengths he was willing to go to cheer her up and make her comfortable, she couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. It was great to be loved like that!

Margaret was an immeasurable joy. She was smart, funny, secretly outrageous, generous, loving and wise. They could just as easily talk for hours or just sit quietly and watch a movie together. They didn’t speak about Richard or the accident. It wasn’t that it was prohibited, it was just that Meg couldn’t talk about it and Marg understood that.  Margaret saw remnants of of Meg’s fragility and would not add to her pain. Meg was crushed when Marg’s fortnight was over – she didn’t want her dear friend to leave. Family and other friends were due to arrive so Marg had to give up the guest room, but she was happy to stay close by at Richard’s.

*@*

After all that passed between Richard and Meg, it would have been foolish to think they’d just snap back to the way they were before … and she felt the reality of it in the little awkward moments, shyness and uncertainties which popped up. There were important things they'd eventually have to discuss. It wasn't the right time to do that, primarily because of the ocean between them and the professional demands on all of their resources. She did her best to be the light and easy person he had originally gotten to know and it seemed to be working. They had fun texts, letters, emails and sometimes even phone calls. The latter were difficult because of Richard’s work schedule and the time difference – but they tried.

She had quite the collage of notes, letters, texts and memorabilia on the bulletin board in her room. She loved re-reading and looking at all of the little tokens of his love. Every time she read the card from the enormous arrangement of spring flower he’d had delivered, she got a real tingle up her spine: “Loads of love and internalcardiothorassictamponading massage.”   She laughed out loud every time she looked at the gorgeous photo he sent to her of him in Central Park and she felt a little naughty – ok, outstandingly naughty. He looked like every flavour of sex you could possibly want. Mmmm.

She felt quite chuffed when he called to talk about his leadership dilemma at work. It was like old times – the natural flow of their thoughts and conversation was easy and comfortable. Bouncing ideas off each other, identifying the important stuff, tossing out the bumpf, lots of swearing ... it was their rhythm. She delighted in making him laugh when she told him about Fanny and Wilson in Mexico. The planets were realigning after all, the universe wasn’t going to keep them apart. She couldn’t be happier about that.

She panicked when he suggested she fly to New York.  She sucked at secrets and was pretty sure he could tell something was up. She was planning a surprise and didn’t want to give anything away. She was getting closer to finishing the final proofs of her dissertation and if all went according to plan, she’d be able to defend it just before Richard was due home in June. After years of practically living, breathing, eating and sleeping her thesis, she was excited to have that time-sucker finished before he returned. She giggled thinking about how he could be her time-sucker. She was a little behind schedule but fiercely determined to achieve her goal. No time for New York or any other trip – she was on full throttle Ph.D. mode. She knew Richard was usually so wrapped up in his work that he’d forget to eat, let alone keep up social niceties so hopefully he hadn't noticed how distracted she was too.

She’d often forget to keep in touch. She’d meant to tell him about the fantastic faculty meeting she went to – hints that she was up for a full time position and possibly even tenure. And the wedding – wow did she have fun at her Department Head’s wedding.  He’d die laughing if she told him about dancing with the retired university president – she was the talk of the town over that one. So many big and little happy things she wanted to share with him. In the throes of a deadline crunch, she forgot nearly all of it.

She worked at maximum capacity and was taking a bit of heat from family and friends. They had seen how withdrawn she was after the accident and didn’t want to see her disappear from them again. She assured them that life was good, it was on track and she was in a great place.

_But the cloud never comes in that quarter of the horizon from which we watch for it._

She was so busy and distracted that it took quite a while for her to notice communications from Richard had significantly dropped off. When was the last time she heard from him? Not long after his invitation to New York?  She couldn't remember but shrugged it off, understanding his process and the need he had to make up for his aloofness.

It looked like everything was going along swimmingly when the wheels fell off the bus. And the bus went over a cliff. And burst into flames. And scorched the earth.

Meg was reviewing her data tables when she got a call from Dani telling her not to look at any tabloids or entertainment media. Of course, when someone tells you not to look at something, you have to. She wished she never had. There, in full colour, for all the world to see was Richard with his tongue down the throat of some teenage starlet. Multiple photos from various angles. As if one wasn't sufficient. The shock turned to hurt and morphed into rage at a frightening speed.

She grabbed the phone and dialed his number so fast, it was a blur. Of course the fucking prick didn’t pick up – he’d have to be an idiot to answer her call. “You fucking pedophile asshole cocksucker. I hope you rot in hell.”

Less than an hour later her voicemail treated her to his reply, “At least I don’t go trolling for sugar daddies at the local senior’s home you fucking mendacious slag.”

There were not enough swear words or chocolate in the universe to cover this one.

She packed up every gift he had ever given her and anything of his still in her flat and took them to his. She retrieved everything that was hers and left, barely squashing her impulse to trash the place. She pushed his key through the mail slot and kicked the door for good measure. Her first call once she got home was to a locksmith in order to have all of the locks and codes changed on her doors.

There were over 20 messages on her voice mail and it looked like double that in emails. No fucking way was she going to give him or this situation any more energy so she deleted them all. She’d pour herself into work and keep her head down. And she had PINED for him? Un-fucking-believable. Never, ever again. NEVER.


	34. Leaving London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg's permanent return to Canada

After several weeks of ignoring calls and emails, Meg’s friends and family were terribly worried. She needed to be alone after the tabloid incident - but she went too far. With all of the joy Richard brought when he came into her life, there was an equal amount of sorrow which remained after he left. Twice in one year Meg disappeared into her own private hell, allowing no one to come near.

She poured herself into her work with a ferocity which bordered on maniacal obsession.  When her dissertation was complete and she waited for her appointment to defend it, she decided to go ahead with her plans for a canoe trip in Algonquin Park, SOLO.  No way Arsitage would be part of this trip!  He was not going to ruin one more single pleasure of hers.  Fucking prick.

When she went back to The University of Toronto to meet with her Advisor and the Doctoral Review Committee she was struck by how much she missed being home. Her contract was up at SLU, her office & flat would be easy to sell, she’d be able to finish up with her few remaining clients easily enough. There was nothing keeping her in England and she no longer had any desire to live there. The joy of the country had soured for her. While she was home, she’d put out feelers to see if there might be any interesting positions available. The power of this decision lifted her spirits immeasurably.

The defense of her dissertation went perfectly. She received high praise from the committee and an indication of interest in her career path. She may have to look no further than U of T for a rewarding and interesting career. Dr. Dr. Porter, at your service. Her family was overjoyed at the prospect of her coming home to stay.

When she arrived back in London she immediately set to work on arranging her permanent departure from Britain. She would dearly miss her friends, Fanny, Margaret and Graham especially. Things had been strained with Graham for a while but they were able to find an acceptable neutral zone. No discussion about Richard to Meg and nothing about Meg to Richard. Those were the rules. She knew it was hard on him and he always looked like there was something he wanted to tell her, but Meg was always on guard.

She had distanced herself from Marg because it was just too awkward given the way things ended with Richard. She didn’t want to put Margaret in the middle of anything as nasty as that – she loved and respected her too much. No matter what happened, he was her son. It was with no small worry that she called Margaret to invite her to London for a girl’s weekend. Margaret was surprised to hear from her and very eager to get together. She had missed Meg terribly and feared she’d lost her forever.

Their visit was warm and loving with little awkwardness. Meg could tell that there was something Marg wanted to discuss but she didn’t push forward. Meg was crystal clear she had no desire to discuss anything about Richard. Marg was deeply saddened by Meg’s decision to return to Canada for good.  She made Meg promise to visit Leicester for a farewell weekend and to keep in touch regularly until then. Those were easy promises to make – she adored Margaret and would do anything for her.

It was during one of their weekly phone calls that Marg told her how pleased she was that Richard had won the summary judgement against that blasted tabloid. Meg didn’t know what Marg was talking about and was hesitant to ask – Richard was a ‘no fly zone’ and she didn’t want to jeopardize the delicate neutrality. But impulse control was never one of her strong suits, so before she realized it, she blurted “Oh, what’s that about?”

“Those heinous jackals who photoshopped those pictures of Richard and that young girl. The tech experts were able to prove without a shadow of a doubt that every one of the pictures was a fake.”

Meg was stunned. She had no tv, paid no attention to celebrity culture and had long since given up her secret membership in The Armitage Army. She was ashamed that she had cut herself off from her friends who probably would have told her, if she had let them. She had no idea that the authenticity of those damnable photos was ever in question. Every cell of her body cringed when she remembered the message she left on his voicemail.

“He didn’t?” She croaked.

“Oh no, dear. He’s had to work very hard to clear his name and it’s all paying off.” Margaret smiled, certain she’d just struck a spark which, with tremendous care, might be able to turn into a proper flame. “Enough about all that nasty business. John is going to an R3 convention and I will have the place to myself next weekend. Any chance you’d like to pop up for a Cary Grant fest?”

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t miss it.” Meg said, obviously distracted.

They continued their conversation, catching up on everything they did in the previous week and reminisced about the silly things which happened that spring after _The Incident_. Marg loved the tales Meg told about visits with family and friends, she had such a knack for describing the quirks of her loved ones. She was particularly glad that Meg had family support during that difficult time when Marg was unable to be there with her.

They confirmed the arrangements for the following weekend. Meg made a chocolate box filled with Marg's favourite truffles, a little parting gift she knew Marg would enjoy. Meg would take the Saturday morning train to Leicester and Marg would pick her up at the station.  Any vesitages of gloom lifted thinking about spending time with Margaret.


	35. The Train Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret asks for a favour and Richard kindly obliges.

Richard’s life had ceased to feel like his own. That fucking tabloid stole every spare moment and ever ounce of energy. As was usually the case, the photos made page one but the retractions were on page 37. He was painted the profligate Humbert Humbert. He didn’t know if his reputation would ever be salvaged, but he made the effort anyway. When he returned to England, he was met with a mixed reception. There were those who would not go near him with a ten foot sterilized barge pole – and others who supported him unconditionally. He was moved by the latter. He was exceptionally grateful for The Armitage Army who stood by him without doubt or hesitation - they knew he'd never behave like that! He truly had the best fans in the world.

He had been irritated when he found her iPod Nano between the cushions of his sofa. He wasn’t interested in anything of hers. EVER. He’d bet it was some crap song from some crap decade and she would sound like crap as she sang along. He popped in an earbud just to validate his theory. He was annoyed because it sounded halfway decent, he thought it might have been Gordon Lightfoot, she had certainly forced him to listen to that guy enough. As he listened to the words he thought he was having an auditory hallucination. Picking up that random song was throwing him for a loop. Did the singer really say

_"But stories always end, And if you read between the lines,you'd know that I'm just tryin' to understand the feelin's that you lack. I never thought I could feel this way and I've got to say that I just don't get it. I don't know where we went wrong, but the feelin's gone and I just can't get it back!"_

It didn't really say that, did it??? He hit replay and listened again.

_If you could read my mind, love,_   
_What a tale my thoughts could tell._   
_Just like an old time movie,_   
_'Bout a ghost from a wishing well._   
_In a castle dark or a fortress strong,_   
_With chains upon my feet._   
_You know that ghost is me._   
_And I will never be set free_   
_As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see._

_If I could read your mind, love,_   
_What a tale your thoughts could tell._   
_Just like a paperback novel,_   
_The kind the drugstores sell._   
_When you reached the part where the heartaches come,_   
_The hero would be me._   
_But heroes often fail,_   
_And you won't read that book again_   
_Because the ending's just too hard to take!_

_I'd walk away like a movie star_   
_Who gets burned in a three way script._   
_Enter number two:_   
_A movie queen to play the scene_   
_Of bringing all the good things out in me._   
_But for now, love, let's be real;_   
_I never thought I could feel this way_   
_And I've got to say that I just don't get it._   
_I don't know where we went wrong,_   
_But the feeling's gone_   
_And I just can't get it back._

_If you could read my mind, love,_   
_What a tale my thoughts could tell._   
_Just like an old time movie,_   
_'Bout a ghost from a wishing well._   
_In a castle dark or a fortress strong._   
_With chains upon my feet._   
_But stories always end,_   
_And if you read between the lines,_   
_You'd know that I'm just tryin' to understand_   
_The feelin's that you lack._   
_I never thought I could feel this way_   
_And I've got to say that I just don't get it._   
_I don't know where we went wrong,_   
_But the feelin's gone_   
_And I just can't get it back!_

Fuck. Would he ever get back to level? Even music was conspiring against him. He didn't know where they went wrong and the feelings were gone.  The difference between his life and the song was that he didn't want to get it back.  He was better off without her - she was the chains upon his feet, he was the movie star who got burned in a three way script.  He put the iPod into his pocket and intended to throw it through her mail slot the next time he walked by. Fuck.

He was dispassionate when he saw the For Sale sign on Meg’s building. He no longer hated her for what she’d done but that was as charitable as he could be. He shrugged as he walked by her house on the way to the café. It was just as well that she was leaving the neighbourhood - HIS neighbourhood. He would never give anyone the power to hurt him like that again. EVER.

In the meantime, he was due to visit with his Mum on Friday night and stay for the weekend. He’d been a negligent son in the last few months, not a single visit with his folks. He was looking forward it – she was the only woman who loved him, the only one who ever had, the only one who ever would.

*@*

His mum didn't disappoint. She made him feel like the best version of himself. She was so proud of his stand against the tabloid – he could have taken a settlement but chose to forego financial restitution and instead insisted on the tabloid's public admission of guilt and secured their promise to validate the authenticity of any photos they`d publish.

There was no comfort or pride like a Mum's. And no one who could cheer him or nurture him like his Mum, he smiled to himself. She made his favourite supper and had him laughing with silly tales of the neighbourhood.

The next morning she made beans on toast for his breakfast, his favourite. "You’ve got to love Mums", he thought. "They’re the best!"

“Oh, I always meant to ask, how was Meg’s Dad when he was over in the spring?” She asked as she washed the dishes.

“No idea.” he snapped, much rougher than he meant to. Why would she bring HER up? Mum knew she gone from his life forever and he never wanted to speak of her again.

“I was just wondering because he was here that weekend you popped over from America but you never mentioned him. I thought for sure you would have met him when you went to Meg’s for dinner that night. I didn't see you before you flew back to New York and after the tabloid crisis, I kept forgetting to ask you about him. I would guess he’s a lovely man – she always spoke so highly of him. What was he like?”

“There was no father, Mum. The only man was her new – “ he cut himself off. “There was no father.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. She told me all about the visit. They ate at that café just down the road and went for long walks around the neighbourhood. I’m certain that’s what she said. Well, maybe you did miss him, I don't remember if Meg said anything about the three of you together.” Margaret surreptitiously glanced at Richard, and left it at that.  "You can't start a fire without a spark."  she thought to herself.

*@*

Margaret was in the middle of making a clutch of chicken pot pies for a Cancer fundraiser when she exclaimed, “OH NO, I was supposed to pick up my friend Joan. She’s coming up from London on the morning train to help with the fundraiser and I can’t leave the pastry at this point. Richard if I call her, can you pick her up for me? Please, be a dear. She’ll recognize you, darling, you won't have to find her, she'll find you.”

“Of course Mum. Glad to help.” In truth, he was glad to be on his own for a few minutes. He was still trying to reconcile what she had said about Meg’s father. It didn’t make sense. How could she go out on a date when her Dad flew across the ocean to visit her? She'd never treat her family that shabbily - him, yes but her family, never. He wracked his memory to find any sign of her Dad. There was no other man that night … just that man … that older man ... HE WAS HER FATHER!!!! Of course! Every tenderness, every look – it was classic Porter. He wasn’t a new lover – he was her bleeding father. How could he have been so stupid?

*@*

He drove to the train station with his mind in a fog. What could this mean? He felt a fragile bubble of hope somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. It couldn’t be possible. After everything that happened between them – after what he'd called her - she could never forgive him … could she?

He parked the car and went to the arrivals area. He'd do this favour for his Mum and then beat it back to London, back to Meg. Would she even agree to see him?  Too many questions.  Too many 'ifs'.  He didn’t know his Mum’s friend Joan but trusted that it would all get sorted soon enough. He looked to the heavens and pleaded for no delays ... and for mercies he didn't deserve.

The train arrived and he watched the disembarking passengers, waiting for his Mum's friend to recognize him. He was impatient, wanting this to be finished so he could leave.

*@*

When Meg left the train, she chided herself for not arranging a specific place to meet Margaret. This was a busy spot and it could take a while to find her friend. Looking around for Marg, she was flabbergasted to see Richard standing not 10 feet away. He hadn't seen her - she could look at him without his knowing. For a fleeting moment, she could pretend ...

She hastened to him, unaware that her feet had even begun to move. Their eyes met and they smiled the smallest, most tremulous smiles. Her heart was in her throat. Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. She thought her heart might break all over again.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“Picking up Mum’s friend Jo—“ and he knew. He knew what his Mum had done. Margaret Joan Porter. Her friend Joan, indeed. His Mum gave him reason to hope.

“You’ll not guess where I’m going.” Meg laughed lightly as she too figured out what Margaret had done. Marg had given her reason to hope.

“You’re coming home with me.” He held his breath, watching, waiting for her confirmation.

He took her suitcase, setting it down beside them and placed one of her hands in his. She closed her eyes and brought their clasped hands up, kissing his fingers and holding his hand to her cheek. He tenderly placed his hand on her face, silently begging her to look up at him. As she did, he lightly caressed her cheek, cradling it in his palm. Every hurt, every worry, every doubt faded away.   

His kiss was tender and sweet. She gazed deeply into his eyes and breathed into him, “I love you.”

“I loved you the second I laid eyes on you and I absolutely know that we are meant to be together forever and now we will always be happy. Marry me Meg”.

“Yes, of course yes.”   She beamed.   Light, humour, love and mischievousness shone from her eyes.   She launched herself into him, knocking both of them into a post, covering his face with a hundred sloppy, noisy kisses.   "Oh you big jerk, I've missed you so much, even when I thought I hated you, I missed you."

"How romantic!  I ask you to marry me and you call me a jerk!"  He chuckled, knowing the only thing that would have made it more perfect was if she'd called him a fucking jerk.  He twirled her around, hanging on for dear life.

She sighed heavily, attempting to look extremely serious but rolling her eyes, “And at home by the fire, whenever you look up there I shall be— and whenever I look up, there will be you .... nerd."


	36. Appendix:  RA References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter by chapter list of quotes, characters, and miscellaneous RA references

Chapter 1  
• Purple shirt – massive fandom swoon, shirt from Spooks  
• Gotye’s Somebody That I Used to Know - RA presented him with an award & said he listens to him  
• The Hobbit – “don’t overlook the small person …” - quote from press tour  
• Lego – quote (alternate career architect as used to build lots with Lego)  
• Matthew Lennox – character from North & South  
• Meg Porter – name inspired by Margaret Hale & Meg in Robin Hood S3 and Joan Porter for John Porter

Chapter 2  
• Fanny Thornton – character from North & South  
• Chocolate ice cream – swoonable quote regarding philosophy on life  
• Pinot Noir – several mentions of it during Hobbit press tour  
• Maria Hale – character from North & South  
• Alec Track – RA’s character in Golden Hour  
• Royal Shakespeare Company – RA was part of the company  
• Gnothi Seauton – Lucas North’s tattoo in Spooks  
• Dum Spiro Spero – Lucas North’s tattoo in Spooks

Chapter 3  
• The Army – Duh, The Armitage Army  
• Do unto others – quote regarding recipe for life  
• Need help picking out clothes – mentioned during several interviews  
• Handsome stranger – Description of his character, Harry Kennedy from Vicar of Dibley  
• There now, better? – this, and all comforting scenes, inspired by the tender comforts Porter provided Katie in Strike Back, Ep. 1  
• Mordor – Hobbit/LOTR  
• Orchrist – Hobbit

Chapter 4  
• Monet – RA’s character in The Impressionists  
• Flip flops – RA quote about being a dork  
• Salmon, couscous & tomatoes – quote about what RA likes to cook  
• Leicester, Cumbria, South East London – biographical info  
• Responding to characters, not to him – quote  
• Richard “Freaking” Armitage – quote from radio interview  
• Absent minded about food … unfussy food – quote  
• Woman who loves to eat – paraphrased quote about his ideal woman

Chapter 5  
• Shyness – several quotes on the topic, some of this direct  
• Does dishes – quote regarding not having a housekeeper so does all the cleaning himself

Chapter 6  
• Bad Homer Simpson impression – ref to Cinemax 60 Seconds with RA interview  
• Hates horror movies – RA quote  
• Disappearing into a character – several quotes about wanting to be able to do that  
• North by Northwest – RA quote saying it’s one of his favourites

Chapter 7  
• Nineteenth century literature – said he liked it in several interviews  
• Georgette Heyer/ Venetia, Sylvester & Convenient Marriage – RA recorded these audiobooks, loves Heyers used of language  
• Russian accent – Lucas North ref  
• Dwarven King – Hobbit ref  
• Drug dealer, gang member, estate agent, accountant, architect, insurance adjuster – roles, jobs and aspirations he’s had/mentioned  
• Airbrushed IMDB photo – mentioned in an interview  
• Armitage Army Gallerey – ‘nuf said  
• Big “Guy” – RA’s character in Robin Hood

Chapter 8  
• Sorry – none

Chapter 9  
• “drag cello out … workaholic” – RA quotes  
• “before bed … pass out” - RA quotes  
• QVC guilty pleasure – RA quote  
• Nigella Lawson – RA quote  
• Getting arse handed to him by a girl – ref to Robin Hood interview  
• Documentary about money scams – RA narrated a BBC tv program on this topic  
• Scrambled eggs (whisk & 2 minutes in the microwave) – RA quote  
• Wearing leather pants in the 1990’s – RA quote  
• Moves like a cat – RA starred in Cats  
• Deep throated voice – RA’s description of his Hobbit character  
• “I’ve never been that kid …” - RA quote  
• Nice guy – RA quote  
• Bit of a square – RA quote  
• Treat people with respect – RA quote on recipe for life  
• “Nourish & nuture …” - RA quote from Strike Back interviews  
• Kiss the family photo – RA’s character in Strike Back kissed daughter’s photo  
• Richard III – RA quotes about his namesake and aspiration to tell his story  
• Thunder in his heart – RA quote about Thorin/Hobbit  
• Roar – many of his characters have done impressive roars – several pics of him doing it too  
• “Brooder …” - RA quote

Chapter 10  
• Looks better grubby – several RA quotes on this  
• “idea of a passionate weekend …” - RA quote  
• Bono’s charity work – inspired by RA quote  
• “You know nothing of the world” – RA line from The Hobbit  
• Loosing roles at the last minute – RA quote  
• DIY geek – RA quote

Chapter 11  
• Adam, Aidan, Dean, Martin, Graham, James, Jed – actors in The Hobbit  
• “at your service” – line from The Hobbit  
• Leicester City Foxes – RA’s favourite football club  
• Galadriel – character from The Hobbit/LOTR  
• “I dare not hope … cares for me.” - quote from North & South

Chapter 12  
• “Hated sound of his own voice … look like somebody else” – RA quotes  
• Teeth fixed – he did this after North & South  
• Wanted a nose job – RA quote  
• Loves family – mentioned directly and indirectly in several interviews & quotes  
• Army wishes him happy – inspired by RA quote  
• “would see it done” – line from The Hobbit  
• No choice, not for him - line from The Hobbit

Chapter 13  
None

Chapter 14  
• “I dare not hope …” – Line from North & South  
• Tall, Adonis, impeccable manners – universally accepted by all fans

Chapter 15  
• Smoulder – can’t even begin to explain  
• “Think of … supress it” – paraphrased from quote  
• “Smoulder with your back” – RA quote  
• Wants a family – RA quote  
• Concentrates on characters and shuts out the world – paraphrased from quote  
• Annabel – was RA’s girlfriend IRL  
• Outrageous filming schedule – paraphrased from quote  
• Afraid bottom would drop out of his career – RA quote  
• Layla & Dani – characters in Strike Back

Chapter 16  
• Sense memory of catching dancers – was in musical theatre  
• “Azyungal, menu tessu” – Kuzhdul , thank you RA Karine 

Chapter 17  
• Bilbo fainted – scene in The Hobbit  
• “You’re not going to ask me to sing are you?” – RA quote from Comicon 2012  
• Harry Pierce & Ruth Evershed – characters in Spooks

Chapter 18  
• MI-5 – RA played an MI-5 agent in Spooks  
• Thought his voice was crap – RA quote

Chapter 19  
• Dinner at Bag End – scene in The Hobbit

Chapter 20  
None

Chapter 21  
• “a little naughty” – RA quote on his ideal woman

Chapter 22  
• Licks fingers after a chocolate donut – scene in Spooks  
• “twitchy” – scene in Spooks (he’d been tasered)  
• “the place looks like a bit of a tip …” – RA quote  
• “I like my own space …” – RA quote  
• “even wash my arm pits” – RA quote during fashion shoot  
• Slay dragons – allusion to The Hobbit

Chapter 23  
“The life that I have is all that I have and the life that I have is yours” – Code Poem for the French Resistence, read by RA for BBC

Chapter 24  
• Oatmeal and berries for breakfast – inspired by RA quote  
• “fat dude” – RA quote from Cinemax 60 Seconds with …  
• Come hither expression – universally agreed that this is one of his staples  
• “You are soft fire with a cloud’s grace. O my Lady.” - RA read Ted Hughes poem “Song” for the BBC

Chapter 25  
• Richard Curtis – Director of Vicar of Dibley  
• Guy made her skin crawl – paraphrased from RA quote on Robin Hood CD extras – his goal for people’s reaction to Guy  
• Leather pants – mentioned in various Robin Hood interviews  
• “when in doubt, do some heavy breathing” – RA quote during Robin Hood promotions  
• “nearly all my clothes are ones I’ve bought for contemporary characters” – RA quote  
• Dear Delight - term of endearment from Venetia

Chapter 26  
• “I suppose I’m a bit mean … face suits that” – RA quotes  
• Harry Kennedy smile – RA’s character in Vicar of Dibley  
• Biography of his characters – mentioned several times in interviews  
• Chris – RA’s brother IRL  
• Workaholic – RA quote  
• Skiing – mentioned several times in interviews  
• Chalet in Haute-Savoie – RA quote  
• Got lost, twice – nod to line in The Hobbit  
• “YOU – do not speak to me” – Line from Robin Hood

Chapter 28  
• John & Margaret Armitage – RA’s parents’ names IRL  
• Alex – RA’s nephew IRL  
• Beth – character in Spooks  
• Writes poetry & short stories – mentioned in interviews  
• Cello – RA plays it, mentioned in many interviews  
• Painting – RA paints, mentioned in interview(s)  
• Impressionism – ref to his role in The Impressionists  
• Far From the Madding Crowd – Harry Kennedy quotes it in Vicar of Dibley  
• Loves to dance – mentioned in several interviews, trained as a dancer  
• Richard III his name sake – RA quote

Chapter 29  
None

Chapter 30  
• French – RA quote saying he wants to learn it  
• “Cracking good cook” – RA quote in Cinemax 60 Seconds with RA  
• Did not like being above the crowd – many mentions of disliking his height, being too tall, etc.  
• Baked beans on toast – RA quote

Chapter 31  
• “Right, where do you want me to sleep then?” – line from Robin Hood  
• That’s where madness lies – phrase from audiobook (sorry forgot which of Heyer’s it was)  
• Loves the written word – from audiobook extras (one of Heyer’s)

Chapter 32  
• Greenwich Village apartment – news article that he bought one  
• Hugh Collinson – character in Strike Back  
• Nicholas Higgins – character in North & South  
• Thought of as aloof – RA quote

Chapter 33  
• "Loads of love and internalcardiothorassictamponading massage." - Richard's message to The Army  
• “But the cloud never comes in that quarter from which we watch for it.” – line from North & South

Chapter 34  
None

Chapter 35  
• Best fans in the world – RA has mentioned this in several interviews  
• His Mum is the only woman who loves him – paraphrased from line in North & South  
• Father who was visiting in the spring – inspired by the brother plot line in North & South  
• He was her Father – inspired by the brother plot line in North & South  
• “Where are you going?” – line from North & South  
• “You’ll not guess where I’m going” – modified from line in North & South  
• “You’re coming home with me” – line from North & South  
• She kissed his fingers – action in North & South  
• His hand on her face, caressed her cheek – action in North & South  
• “I loved you the second I saw you …” - line from Vicar of Dibley  
• “And at home by the fire …” – line from Vicar of Dibley – a quote from Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd

### Actions


	37. Appendix:  Songs, Poems, Carlin, etc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YouTube links for all of the songs, poems, etc. referenced in the story

George Carlin's 7 Words You Can't Say on Television (WARNING: These are the big swear words, some of which I won't say even though I swear like a drunken sailor)

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqvLTJfYnik>

 

Princess Bride - Twu Wuv

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZsOPMVt4Yg>

 

Jet Boy Jet Girl - Elton Motello

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9B2D2gwms0>

 

Blister in the Sun - Violent Femmes

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYZkoI1ggEw>

 

Pretty Vacant - The Sex  Pistols

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kziG-ArBAR0>

 

Color My World - Chicago

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swHjpyrV1e8>

 

Moondance - Van Morrison

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNsmF9JTpuI>

 

Come Away With Me - Norah Jones

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKpx656MSpk>

 

Bach Cello Suite # 1

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHzfD6XLK7Q>

 

If You Could Read My Mind - Gordon Lightfoot

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ngo2B5tibLQ>

 

Richard Reads: Yours:  Code Poem for the French Resistence by Leo Marks

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDtamNFbViM&list=PL8hT76xwd95VQXXAMOTtgrD-ulUcpswgQ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDtamNFbViM&list=PL8hT76xwd95VQXXAMOTtgrD-ulUcpswgQ) [  
](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqrUnafoR30&list=PL8hT76xwd95VQXXAMOTtgrD-ulUcpswgQ)

 

Richard Reads: Song by Ted Hughes

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqrUnafoR30&list=PL8hT76xwd95VQXXAMOTtgrD-ulUcpswgQ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqrUnafoR30&list=PL8hT76xwd95VQXXAMOTtgrD-ulUcpswgQ)


	38. Appendix: Photos of Meg's Baking

Quadruple chocolate cookies:  


 

Pumpkin cheesecake:  
  
(this was as close as I could find ... Meg's cheesecake has 4 layers: crust, cheese, pumpkin and creme fresh)

   
Christmas morning strata:  


 

 

Richard's Christmas truffles in a lucite box:  


 

 

'Smores ice cream:  


 

 

Flourless chocolate cake:

 

 

Spiced Nuts:  


 

 

Rose Petal Maccarons:

 

The chocolate box Meg makes for Margaret:  


 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the timeline, this happened somewhere between Chapters 26 & 27
> 
> Richard's attempt to convince Meg that he wanted her, just as she was, didn't magically change her self-image issues forever. Insecurities didn't just go *poof* and disappear even when Meg wanted them to. The way Meg chose to deal with it seemed to be creative and generous, but it had an unexpected result.
> 
> The Selfish Lover concept was inspired by the book Shibumi, by Trevanian. The protagonist, Nicholai Hel wins a bet with his beautiful mistress, Hana. He warns her that he will be very selfish in his winnings and pleasure her without allowing her to do the same for him. It's an incredible scene in the book and made quite the impression ... clearly after reading it decades ago, it wouldn't let Meg out of its grip.
> 
> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER ISN'T QUITE AS VAGUE AS USUAL WHEN TALKING ABOUT SEX - IT'S CERTAINLY NOT PORN, NOT EVEN SMUT, BUT IT'S MORE BLUNT.

“G’night, love.” He said as he gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

“G’night.” She said distractedly as she continued typing. She was ‘in the zone’ and barely registered what he said or even that he kissed her.

A short time later she looked up, noticing that Richard wasn’t there and realized that he had gone to bed … without her … again. That seemed to have been happening with increasing frequency lately.

She decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak, and went into the bedroom, very quietly getting undressed and crawling into bed. He was on his side, turned away from her which made it easy for her to spoon him and slip her hand around his waist. As she started to lightly trace little patterns around his belly button and nibble on his ear, he rolled over onto his stomach with an annoyed grunt. Well that was new.

Meg rolled over and contemplated this unpleasant shift in their sex lives. A couple of months ago they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and now he was going to bed without her and turning her down when she touched him. Not good. Not good at all.

This was her greatest fear. That she was not good enough, pretty enough, tall enough, sexy enough for him. She thought that she was a good student – learning exactly how to give him the most exquisite pleasure she could. But apparently that wasn’t enough for him anymore. Her heart was breaking and the pain was overwhelming. Every instinct told her to run – to distance herself from him both physically and emotionally so that when the time came for him to break up with her, which was clearly in the offing, she wouldn’t be so traumatized.

Or, she could stay and fight for this, fight for them. She could not just let it slip through her fingers without at least trying to save it. She had come so far in the last few months. She had even begun to feel quite confident about her newly acquired abilities. Surely she could learn new skills if that’s what he wanted.

Between crying and trying to imagine new ways to satisfy him, she didn’t get any sleep that night. She was a mess – physically and emotionally. She was awake when he started to stir in the morning. She tried once more to initiate some sexy times but he gave her a sad smile and apologized that he just needed to use the can.

Maybe going to him when she looked like a train wreck wasn’t the most effective sales approach, but before she could lose her nerve or run for the hills, she had to do something. Knocking on the bathroom door, but not waiting for a response, she opened the door and walked right in.

Whatever she thought his reaction might be, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. He was leaning against the shower wall, jerking off. When he looked up he froze and closed his eyes, blocking her out. “Meg?”

“When you’re done, maybe we can talk?” She was hurt that he turned her down in favour of his hand. If she wasn't in the house, if she hadn't just tried to touch him, if he hadn't rejected her last night she wouldn't have thought anything of it. But all of those things did happen. She was confused and hurt that he preferred to be alone in the shower than with her. Was she really that bad?

He stood motionless for a few moments and then looking down, he replied “Guess I’m done. What is it Meg?”

“I don’t even know what to ask … What's wrong? Do you still love me? Are you leaving me?”

“It’s fine. Everything will be ok. Of course I love you and I'm not leaving you. I just need to come to grips with some stuff, that’s all.”

“Stuff?”

He stared at the ground, uncertain how to continue. With great effort he said, “Meg you are kind, thoughtful, creative, loving and generous ... sometimes maybe even too generous. You have every right to be a little selfish in some area of your life. I thought it might be chocolate or chick flicks or something like that. It never occurred to me that it would be sex. You are very, very selfish when it comes to sex and I’m just having a harder time accepting it than I thought I would.”

“Whatthefuck? I am SELFISH? Are you kidding me? When have I ever been anything other than ready, willing and able to do anything to you that you've asked or even only hinted at? ” She was crying so hard she could barely catch her breath. Hurt and disbelief were quickly turning to anger, “What the hell do you want from me?”

He sighed, “Meg, why do you do all of those wonderful things to me with your sweet mouth and fantastic fingers?”

“I like knowing I can drive you crazy.” She replied, caught off guard by the gentle way he spoke to her.

“Yeh, I know. I can see how much pleasure you take from it, how proud you are that you can make me absolutely frantic. But you are selfish – you rarely let me feel those things – be those - things for you.”

“WHAT? I am insane for you. You make me wild!”

“But that’s not entirely true though is it?! You go wild when you are making me lose control. You go wild by what’s going on in your head, usually not from what I’m actually doing to your body. I want to make you frantic. I want to know that I can drive you crazy. I want to know that you melt for me – that I can do that for you. But most of the time you won’t let me. You are stuck in your head and I never know if it’s me or your fantasy which you are responding to. Unless you are distracted, you won’t let me see, touch or taste you. You do all of these amazing, wonderful things to me but you don't give me a turn. Maybe I’d like to take pride in making you feel shattered … just as you do when you see how shattered you make me.”

She was shaken. He was miserable because she asked too little of him? Because she didn’t need it to be ‘her turn’? This made no sense. Her disbelief and confusion were plainly written in her expression.

Trying to help her understand, he continued “When you see me walking around naked, what do you do?”

“I am in awe, give thanks and try not to leer like a perv.” She had a hard time supressing a smirk because she didn’t have to imagine or remember - he was standing naked in front of her and, despite the current tension, he made her knees weak just by being there.

“What about when I’m in really bad nick – greasy hair, days without shaving, bags under my eyes, exhausted … what about then?”

“Try harder not to leer like a perv.” She said, sheepishly.

“Yeh, I know - you're not very good at hiding it. But Megs, I hate the sound of my voice, the way I look, everything. It’s all extremely excruciating. I don’t understand how you can see me the way you do. But you do and when you do, it makes me puff up like a freaking peacock. The way you see me – even when The Army would disown me for looking so rough - makes me want to strut. I don't hide from you, even at my worst because you never want me to hide - you want me all the time. Do you think me incapable of feeling the same way about you? You have chuckled and thrown things at me for the naughty leers I give you - even when you’re in your feckin’ horrible gardening togs. You being yourself is just so fucking amazing to me – how could I not want you to feel like strutting too?” He then asked, “And when you are touching me or tasting me how do you feel?”

“Excited, kinda proud…” she admitted.

“Why can’t I feel excited, confident and proud for what I can do to you?” He continued, “Do you think ill of me for responding to you so … enthusiastically?”

“NO!! Pleasing you, making you feel good is exactly what I want!”

“I know you do – and it makes everything you do so much more amazing when I see how much you want it too, how much you are enjoying it. Do you not think I want to feel the same way, for you to know how very much I love being reason for you coming undone?”

“I guess …”

“No Meg. No guessing. I want to be able to make you frantic with need and satisfy every single one of those needs. I know that you always cum, and I’m glad that you do, but I don't think it’s always my efforts which get you there ... it’s your enjoyment of what you’re doing to me. I want to be to you what you are to me … and you won’t let me. You shut me out or shut me down …”

“But I just want to please you …”

“That’s what I mean – it’s all about what you want … it’s your way or not at all ... it's very selfish.”

“But I thought you liked the way I touch you, when I taste you …”

“I do. I really, really, REALLY do. But that’s not the point.” Raking his hands through his hair in frustration, “You’re not listening … I don’t know how to explain it … maybe I’m asking too much … Oh Meg … if this is who you are, then I'll get over it. It’s not what I’d hoped for, but I’ll adjust. I love YOU.”

“NO!!!!!! Richard If you’re not happy, neither am I. You cannot 'get over it'. I love you and all I wanted was to make you happy. Please Richard – what can I do to fix this?” She didn't think she had ever felt such intense panic.

“Stop thinking you’re bloody Quasi Modo … you are amazing and sexy and I want you every minute of every day … please just let me show you that in the ways I want to, need to … let it be what I'm doing to you instead of what you're doing to me that makes you explode ... leave the lights on sometimes, let me see you, let me get lost in touching you, let me feast on you … let me take you there and back again.”

“But … I’m not all pink and shiny and smooth. There are things about me that I find disappointing and … well … ugly -”

“ARGHHHHHH!!!!! Woman what the fuck do I need to do to make you understand – I love YOU exactly as you are – because you are exactly as you are! The ONLY thing unattractive about you is this ridiculous insecurity! I have seen, even though you’ve tried your best to prevent it, every single centimetre of your body. I know you inside out – even though you apparently don’t want me to. What exactly is it that you think you are hiding from me that could possibly change the way I feel about you? You are such an intelligent woman – why are so stupid about this? And I HATE it that you don’t trust me. You don’t trust my judgement, my love or my honour.”

“Fucking Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck! Of course I trust you – I always have and I always will! Richard this has nothing to do with trusting you. I look in the mirror and I don’t like what I see, that’s all. ”

“Do you remember the morning after our first proper night together? We over did it so much that neither of us could walk straight and we ended up soaking in the shower together. Well, darling all of the lights were on and you weren’t the least bit concerned of what I would think if you weren’t sucking your stomach in so hard it was pushing your belly button out your back. You were happy and funny and sweet and sexy and I loved every second of it. I can’t imagine you willingly stepping into a shower with me now unless it was in the dark. You hide from me and you deny me in this way every day, my love. It hurts and it’s disappointing and … well … sometimes it’s more effective than salt peter.”

Her tears flowed afresh. Had they ever stopped? How could someone tell her what to think about her own body? Part of her wanted to shout at Richard for tellingher she had no right to her own opinion. Sure, her self image was informed by the world around her and contemporary definitions of beauty - she was not completely immune to media bombardment. She realized how ridiculous it was to allow pop culture to influence her opinions, but she didn't give the love of her life the same power. She was entitled to her own thoughts on her body - but she should welcome the opinion and influence of the one person who knew her better than anyone, who loved her more than anyone else. She'd been a fool and she'd been mean to him. She'd stop that nonsense immediately.

She inhaled deeply, her breath hitching. She removed her pajamas and holding his gaze, she walked slowly towards him, joining him in the shower.

“Richard?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Make me frantic for you.”

And he did.


End file.
